The Words I Wish I'd Said
by JoeyStar
Summary: When the repercussions of a difficult mission catch up with the Tracy family, they are cast into a tortuous waiting game as the life of one of their own hangs in the balance.
1. Chapter One: Lost in Thought

**22/12/2011:**The sequel to this story, "Learning to Fly Again", is now being posted in my profile

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**Chapter One: Lost in Thought**

The day was one of peace on the island.

The waves of the Pacific Ocean lapped gently against the golden sand of the beaches. Tropical birds of varying sizes and colours called liltingly to one another from atop tall-stemmed trees. A light breeze teased at the fronds of the jungle vegetation, sending the small creatures that lived beneath them scurrying for cover. Faint piano music drifted out from the central building; a calming, soothing melody that instilled a great sense of peace in all that heard it. It washed over the island and out to sea where the swell of the ocean moved in time with it, beating rhythmically against the earth.

Then suddenly, startling, a blood-curdling yell shattered the liquid tranquillity.

"_Gordon_!"

The birds in the trees squawked in fright and launched themselves away from the foreign noise. The piano music ended abruptly in a jarring clash of notes. Even the motion of the sea seemed to pause, listening intently.

"Gordon, I am going to _kill_ you!"

Footsteps accompanied the furious voice: the heavy, clumping tread of someone in the depths of anger and the lighter, more rapid steps of the apparent subject of ire. Above all of that could be heard the sound of helpless laughter, so strong that it bordered on hysterical; a sound that grew louder as a door slid open and a young man dashed out of the central building.

His auburn hair captured the sunlight, lending him golden streaks to his otherwise reddish locks. It was he who was laughing uncontrollably, his sides gasping for air as he staggered around to the other side of the swimming pool.

He was followed out of the villa by a second man, this one slightly taller and with much darker hair. The thunderous expression on his face matched the tension in his body and he lunged towards the red-haired man, narrowly avoiding slipping into the pool.

The first man let out a loud snort of laughter at the near miss. "Stop laughing!" the dark haired man snarled. "It's not funny."

"Seems pretty funny for over here, Scotty." The auburn haired man laughed again. "Man, you should have seen your face!"

Scott's expression darkened even further. "I _need _those files for work!"

"You still have them."

"Gordon –"

Gordon held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Hey – the files are fine. Honestly. I just gave them a bit of a face-lift. The original material's all intact."

"It had better be," Scott threatened.

"Of course, it _has _been subjected to my creative fine-tuning impulses –"

With a snarl, Scott launched himself around the edge of the pool towards his younger brother. Sniggering like a maniac, Gordon matched him pace for pace, careful to keep the calm, azure waters of the pool between him and his increasingly irate brother.

They were so intent upon each other that neither brother noticed when a third figure appeared in the doorway. Virgil Tracy watched in exasperation as his supposedly mature, adult siblings continued to circle the swimming pool like piranhas – Gordon clutching at his aching sides and Scott looking on the verge of an aneurysm.

Virgil had woken especially early that morning so that he could have some time alone to concentrate on his music. In a house with four brothers, his father, the Kyrano's, Brains and Fermat it was difficult to find a period in the day when he could put in some real practice time. There was a new piece he had been wanting to try for months now – a classic by twentieth century composer Ludovico Einaudi – and the morning's serenity had presented him with an unprecedented opportunity. Or it _would_ had, had his older brother Scott not woken up so early and discovered he'd been the victim of yet another of Gordon's practical jokes.

"Has he been giving out your mobile phone number again?" Virgil asked as he leaned against the doorframe. He was referring to the time, fairly recently, when Gordon had decided it would be 'hilarious' to post Scott's private phone number on the Internet and 'see what happened'. Suffice to say neither Scott, nor their father had been particularly impressed.

"Pulling the same trick twice?" Gordon mock-glared at his brother. "_Please_, I have more class than that." He turned his attention back to Scott who was still trying – unsuccessfully – to reach him. "And besides, old Scotty might be a bit slow on the uptake but even _he's_ not stupid enough to fall for it a second time."

"He got into my computer," Scott answered through gritted teeth. "And changed _everything_."

"Not everything!" Gordon defended himself, backing away from the furious Scott as his older brother advanced upon him. "Just cosmetic stuff. I was lying about tampering with your files!"

Virgil raised his eyebrows. "Then what's the problem?"

Scott took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. "It's pink, Virgil," he replied in a deathly quiet voice. "Everything … is _pink_."

Virgil couldn't help himself – he burst out laughing. Scott shot him a wounded look but it only served to make him laugh even harder. Gordon grinned, thinking he'd finally found an ally. With John up on Thunderbird 5 and Alan probably still in bed, two against one was the best he could hope for and while Virgil wasn't normally as interested in the prank-wars that he and Alan led against their older brothers, he had been known to contribute every now and then.

"I don't know why you're so bothered, Scott. Pink goes so well with your complex – woah!"

So much for Virgil being on _his _side. While Gordon had been focusing on Scott and backing up towards the villa, Virgil had sauntered out onto the patio and given Gordon a hefty shove between his shoulder blades. The result of which was a tremendous splash as Gordon fell face-first into the swimming pool.

He surfaced, spluttering, to see Scott standing above him with his hands on his hips and behind Scott was Virgil. They both looked insufferably smug.

"Where's Alan when I need him?" Gordon complained, suddenly feeling very outnumbered.

Scott stepped closer, his expression still angry but the mirth in his eyes giving away his true emotions. "What's the matter, Gordon? You scared?"

Gordon grinned as a bead of water slid down the side of his face. "Nah – I just have a healthy sense of self-preservation. And Alan makes a good shield. But seeing as he's not here …" He trailed off and made a pretence of looking thoughtful. Before Scott or Virgil could ask what he was up to, Gordon had pushed away from the edge of the pool and was treading water directly in the centre, revelling in his favourite environment.

"I'll just have to make do with what's at hand, won't I?" He flashed an insolent grin at his brothers, obviously under the illusion that he had outsmarted them.

Scott cocked his head towards Virgil. "Do you want to go first?"

Virgil smiled genially. "Oh no, after you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah – you're our leader after all."

"As leader I could _order_ you to go first."

"Or you could lead by example," Virgil countered, earning a hard look from Scott.

In the pool Gordon looked from one to the other with a sudden sense of impending doom. "Uh, guys …"

Scott ignored him. "We're not going to agree on this, are we?"

"Probably not," Virgil agreed pleasantly.

Scott sighed. "Together then?"

"Now that I can do."

"Guys, what are you –?"

The rest of Gordon's words were lost in a tide of water as Scott and Virgil ran forward and jumped simultaneously into the pool, headless of their clothes, soaking the nearby sun loungers, not to mention their younger brother.

Panicking, Gordon tried to swim backwards, only to find himself surrounded on all sides by his wet and grinning brothers.

He smiled weakly. "Now guys, you know I was just joking … right?"

Scott smiled evilly but it was Virgil's serene expression that was the most worrying of all. They both swam closer to him and Gordon knew that even his superior skills in the swimming pool weren't going to get him out of this one. Still, maybe his tongue would. "Come on guys - _all's__fair__in__love__and__war_!"

His brother's locked gazes over his head. "Exactly."

Gordon's protests were lost in a barrage of water.

While his brothers continued to wage war on one another back at the villa, eighteen-year-old Alan Tracy stepped out of the jungle and onto the island's southern beach.

The youngest member of the redoubtable Tracy family was in an unusually reflective mood. He'd chosen to seek the solitude of the beach rather than join Gordon in his latest scheme to drive their older brothers mad but as he walked across the soft sand his mind was anywhere but on the beautiful scenery around him.

Instead, it was fixed on the subject of girls. Or to be more exact, one girl in particular.

Tin-Tin Kyrano.

The pretty Malaysian girl was occupying his thoughts a lot recently. He knew he should be concentrating on other things – International Rescue for one – yet somehow, whatever he was doing, his thoughts always managed to make their way back to Tin-Tin.

Maybe it was because things had been kind of weird between them recently. Ever since … well, Alan could no longer keep up the 'we're just friends' pretence that had served him well for so long. Not after he'd taken leave of his senses … and kissed her.

It was at that point that everything had started to go wrong. He and Tin-Tin had been friends _forever_. It was one of those comfortable friendships that came from knowing the other person almost as well as you know yourself – where you can say pretty much anything and the other person will understand. Heck, Tin-Tin was practically part of the Tracy family … which added a whole new level of freakiness to the current situation.

_I __shouldn't __have __kissed __her,_ Alan thought moodily, poking at the loose sand with his foot. _I __don't __even __know __why __I __did __it. __It's __not __as __if __I _like _her __or __anything; __she __was __just __standing __there, __in __the moonlight, __in __that __dress, __and __she __looked __so __pretty__…_

No, he definitely shouldn't have kissed her. Things were so, well, _awkward_ between them now. Every time he looked at Tin-Tin he got a confusing flash of guilt and uncertaintyand every time she looked at him she turned bright red and ran off. The fleeing part Alan found particularly annoying. How on earth was he supposed to sort this out with Tin-Tin if she was never around to talk to?

To make things even worse, everyone else was starting to notice that something was wrong. His dad has asked him if Tin-Tin was upset about something the previous morning, Brains had commented that she seemed distracted when she was working and his brothers … his brothers had immediately decided that _he_ had something to do with it.

They didn't know how right they were.

Sighing, Alan drew a line in the sand with the toe of one boot. He had denied the accusations vehemently of course; the last thing he and Tin-Tin needed were his brothers knowing the truth of what had happened. That hadn't stopped Gordon though – in fact it had only served to convince him that Alan and Tin-Tin were no longer 'just good friends'.

_God, Gordon's just made this whole mess even worse. Why can't he just keep his mouth shut? Aren't I allowed to have a private life? And as for Tin-Tin …_ Alan groaned. _After what Gordon said last night I'll be lucky if she ever speaks to me again._

A wave lapped over his feet, breaking Alan out of his reverie. Cursing, he sprang backwards, flicking the excess water from his feet and wincing as his socks became increasingly damper.

_Great, __another __pair __of __shoes __ruined._ Alan untied the boots swiftly and pulled them off. His wet socks followed until he was standing bare-foot upon the warm sand. _This __day __just __keeps __getting better __and __better. __All __I __need __now __is to be stung by a damn scorpion and my misery will be complete._

As soon as _that _thought had entered his mind, Alan was forcibly reminded of the time two years ago when he nearly _had _been stung by a scorpion. He shivered, glancing around uneasily and checking his shoulders for any unwelcome visitors.

Tin-Tin had saved him that day, using that freaky power of hers. Alan had been fascinated by it in the months after the incident with the Hood but to this day she refused to use it again. They'd argued about it once, Alan remembered. She'd shouted at him, her dark eyes flashing and her black hair dancing around her face, its wild movement reflecting the passion of her emotions …

_The __passion of her __emotions?_ Alan pulled a face, disgusted by his dreamy Tin-Tin-related thoughts. What was _wrong_ with him? He was mooning over Tin-Tin like one of those love-sick heroes from the trashy American soaps his Grandmother liked to watch. No wonder Tin-Tin wanted to keep as far away from him as possible.

God, he was pathetic.

* * *

Tin-Tin Kyrano wrapped her arms around her bent knees and continued to watch Alan Tracy from her vantage point on the cliff-side.

She hadn't followed him; she'd come out some hours earlier, seeking a refuge from the chaotic Tracy household. The spot was a favourite of hers because the views were truly spectacular – even by Tracy Island standards. It was the perfect place to come when she wanted some solitude; she could just stare out across the island and forget about everything that had been troubling her.

She'd been doing that a lot recently. In fact, Tin-Tin had been spending several hours each day in this very spot, attempting to sift her way through the confusing cocktail of emotions that was threatening to overwhelm her. And, if she was being honest, it was far easier to sit here and marvel at nature's beauty than it was to deal with everything that had recently happened between her and Alan.

Tin-Tin bit her lip as she watched him move along the beach below her. What _was _she going to do about Alan?

She had spent so long analysing her emotions that she was beginning to lose sight of what she truly felt. Part of her was furious with him. How _dare _he screw up their friendship like this? It had been a completely stupid – not to mention _senseless_ – thing to do … and he hadn't even asked her permission! He was lucky she hadn't slapped him for taking such liberties with her!

And yet the confusing thing was … another part of her had enjoyed it. It hadn't been the first time Tin-Tin had been kissed – it hadn't even been the best kiss she'd ever shared – but something about it haunted her thoughts, refusing to let her rest. She thought about it _all_ the time and had even found herself reliving it on more than one occasion, which had left her wracked with guilt, anger and longing.

She couldn't deny that some small part of her had revelled in the feeling of his arms wrapping around her, of his soft lips against hers. And she also couldn't deny that what had started out as purely Alan's actions and developed into something a great deal more mutual, something that had left her tingling with pleasure and longing for more. In fact, as she stared down at the tall figure on the beach, it was all she could do not to run down there this very moment, throw her arms around him and –

_No!_

Logic won over passion and Tin-Tin remained where she was, her fingernails digging into the soft skin of her knees. No, she couldn't face Alan yet, no matter what her inner voice was telling her to do. It was too soon – she hadn't worked things out yet. Things were just so – so … so complicated.

Tin-Tin wasn't blind. She knew Alan Tracy was an attractive prospect. Smart, rich and handsome, he was like the poster-boy for the ideal man – as long as you could get passed his annoying tendency to act like a spoiled brat.

But the problem was, she also knew that if he didn't live on an undisclosed island somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, then he'd have girls falling at his feet – and not just because of his father's money. Things would be _so _different.

Here on Tracy Island, there was just her. There had always been just her. What if that explained it? What if Alan had only kissed her because she was _there_, and not because he actually liked her? Because it was convenient and safe?

Her rational side calmly pointed out that she'd grown up with _all_ of the Tracy boys and none of Alan's brothers had felt the need to kiss her, despite the lack of girls on the island.

_But Alan's younger than they are, _the insidious little voice in her head whispered. _They've all been to the mainland far more than him – they've had the chance to meet loads of different girls. Alan hasn't. He's just _using _you …_

Tin-Tin rested her chin on her knees, feeling even more upset and confused than she had when she'd awoken that morning.

_Talk to him,_ her rational side urged. _Then you'll have the answer to your question._

It was a simple solution and yet, Tin-Tin just couldn't accept it. The thought of talking to Alan about the kiss scared her more than she could have imagined; she didn't _want_ to know his answer in case it turned out to be exactly what she feared.

No, it was far better for both of them if she just continued to give him a wide berth. Maybe if she gave the situation some time then they could both forget it had ever happened and things could go back to the way they had been before – with Alan as her safe, comfortable best friend.

Down on the beach, the subject of her jumbled thoughts had stopped his meandering and appeared to be looking intently at something out of Tin-Tin's view. A few moments later her watch began vibrating and she realised what had snared Alan's attention.

Schooling her expression into one of practiced serenity, Tin-Tin touched a button on the right hand side of her watch and an image began to coalesce on the previously blank display.

"Tin-Tin." The familiar face of Scott Tracy, the oldest of Alan's brothers, filled the watch-screen. His blue eyes were serious; this was not a pleasure call. Tin-Tin knew what he was going to say before he'd even opened his mouth.

"We need you back at the house. A call's just come in from a place called Cilybebyll, in Wales. There's been an explosion in their coalmine. It's set the whole place on fire and there're still eleven men trapped inside."

"FAB, Scott," Tin-Tin affirmed. "I'm on my way."

Scott nodded sharply and then his image vanished.

Tin-Tin stood up quickly, brushing specks of dirt from her bare legs and straightening her clothes. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear she turned to leave and then paused, glancing back over her shoulder.

The beach was empty.

Shaking her head at her own foolishness, Tin-Tin hurried off back to the house.


	2. Chapter Two: Welcome to Wales

**Chapter Two: Welcome to Wales**

"You're awfully quiet."

Alan jerked his head up at Virgil's statement. His older brother wasn't looking at him – he was, after all, piloting Thunderbird 2 – but Alan got the distinct impression Virgil probably had an inkling about exactly what was wrong with him. He'd always been one of the more perceptive Tracy brothers.

"Yeah, Alan." Gordon swung around in the co-pilot's chair, heedless of the ships controls. "By now you're normally whining about how long the journey's taking."

Gordon, on the other hand, was about as perceptive as a sledgehammer. Normally Alan appreciated his endless supply of jokes and easy sense of humour but right now, he wasn't in the mood for it.

"I've just got some things on my mind," he said evenly.

Gordon raised his eyebrows. "Anyone we know?"

"You know, Gordon, contrary to your beliefs, not everything has to do with girls," Virgil said dryly. "Right, Alan?"

Yeah – Virgil knew all right. God knows how. Maybe Tin-Tin had said something … she and Virgil were fairly close.

For some reason this thought sent an irrational wave of anger pulsing through him and he had to resist the urge to glare at the back of Virgil's head. Gordon was still watching him intently and acting jealous over Tin-Tin would be a _huge _giveaway and besides, it wasn't as if Virgil had actually _done_ anything … had he?

"Alan?" Virgil's voice broke through his reverie and he suddenly realised that he hadn't answered his brother's question.

"Uh – yeah, right," he said quickly, turning back to the window.

Gordon sniggered behind him. "Definitely a girl."

Alan stared at his reflection in the window and slowly counted to ten, fighting to keep his temper in check. There was no one who knew how to push his buttons like Gordon Tracy did.

Now if Gordon would just keep his mouth shut then everything would be fine …

It was like hoping that the sun was going to rise in the morning.

"But which girl?"

_Shut up, Gordon._

Gordon tapped his fingers against his chin in an exaggerated manner. "Let's see … how many girls does our young Alan actually know?"

_Shut _up_, Gordon._

"Well there's Lady Penelope … but she's a bit out of your league, huh Alan? And there's Grandma – eugh, I'm not even going to go there …"

Alan's grip on the arms of his chair tightened.

" … then there's Onaha but unless you go for _seriously_ older women I somehow doubt it's her. Besides, Kyrano might have a few things to say about that."

_Don't hit your brother. _Don't _hit your brother._

A look of unholy glee dawned over Gordon's face. "And I know who else Kyrano might have a few things to say about …"

_He's going to say it._

"Tin-Tin!" Gordon finished dramatically, watching Alan closely.

Alan bit his lip in an attempt to keep hot, angry words from spilling out of his mouth.

"Of course – Tin-Tin! She's by _far _the most obvious choice!" Gordon's airy tone made it sound as if he'd only just made the connection between Alan and Tin-Tin – which Alan knew to be a complete lie. Gordon had been teasing him about his 'we're-just-friends' status with Tin-Tin for years – it was a constant source of amusement for his older brother. Normally Alan could take his annoying comments and blatant innuendos but thanks to the recent problems with Tin-Tin, he on the verge of completely losing his temper.

"_Alan and Tin-Tin sitting in a tree …_"

Virgil, who up until this point had been relatively quiet, spoke up. "Gordon – grow up." He sounded as exasperated as Alan felt. While Gordon was the humorous, easy-going member of the Tracy family but he had a tendency to push things too far.

"_K-I-S-S-I-N-G …_"

Virgil sighed. "Gordon."

"Aw, come on Virg – I'm just getting to the good bit! _First comes looooooove, then comes –_"

Alan whirled away from the window, his temper snapping. "Just _shut up_, Gordon!"

His brother broke off mid-song, taken aback by the anger in Alan's voice.

"Alan, I was only joking –"

"Yeah, well it's not funny. Unless I _specifically_ tell you, then what's going on in my life is none of your damn business!"

Gordon held up his hands in a gesture of submission. "Alright, alright. Sheesh … sometimes you can be _so _touchy, Alan."

Alan was seriously beginning to regret his harsh words. Gordon looked almost hurt and Alan knew that truthfully, his brother had only been messing around. He hadn't meant anything malicious by his comments – it was his timing that had completely sucked.

Alan rubbed his forehead with one hand. Why, oh _why_ did he _always _seem to make difficult situations even worse?

"Just drop it, okay?" he said finally.

Gordon shrugged and slumped back into his chair.

There was a moment of silence and then Virgil spoke again. "We're coming up on the Western Coast of England. Scott's probably reached the site by now."

"I'll check." The argument forgotten, Gordon leaned forward and depressed the communicator button on the instrument panel. "Thunderbird 2 to Thunderbird 1."

There was a brief crackle of static and then an unexpected voice came through the speakers. "_Thunderbird 1 here_. _Go ahead, Gordon._"

Alan started, Virgil looked up from the ship's controls and Gordon frowned. "Tin-Tin?" he said curiously. "What are you doing here?" It wasn't common practice for Tin-Tin to take part in rescues, although since the events with the Hood three years ago, she'd participated in a couple.

"_Your dad said Scott would need some initial back-up, so he sent me along to help._"

"Where _is_ Scott?"

"_He's gone to assess the situation_. _I'm manning Mobile Control until you guys get here. What's you ETA?_"

"Twenty minutes."

"_I'll let Scott know._"

"FAB."

Gordon sat back in his chair and stretched luxuriously. "Thirty minutes … doesn't this big, green bug go any faster?"

"Do you want to get out and push?" Virgil asked archly.

Gordon grinned. "Hey, I'm not insulting your baby, Virg. I'm just eager to get to … where are we going again?"

"A coalmine in Cilybebyll, Wales."

"Sillybebil? What kind of a weird name is that?"

"It's Welsh, Gordon."

"Welsh? Who in the world speaks Welsh?"

"The 2.9 million people who live there?"

"2.9 million … how do you _know_ something like that? What did you do – swallow an encyclopaedia?"

"I could have just made the figure up …"

Alan let his brothers' banter wash over him as he watched patches of English countryside flash past through the gaps in the clouds. Hearing Tin-Tin's voice over the radio had brought it all back to him – the inescapable mess that his stupid actions had caused.

He sighed and rubbed a hand fiercely across his eyes in an attempt to dissipate his gloomy mood. After all, Tin-Tin aside, he had a lot to be happy about. He'd finally finished the long, boring years of mandatory schooling that his father had required of him, even though returning to Wharton Academy after the incident with the Hood and having to act as if nothing had changed had been the hardest thing Alan had ever done.

It had been worth though. As had the difficulties his new position as a trainee Thunderbird had caused him during those final three years of schooling. Alan had never been particularly interested in schoolwork – what was the point when his marks would have no bearing on his future career? – but one of his dad's stipulations was that he had to maintain decent grades if he was to continue his training during the school holidays. Consequently, Alan had spent his final years in school working harder than he had done in the previous ten – something which had been an endless source of amusement for his older brothers, who were all convinced that he was going to fail. Alan had found their obvious doubt infuriating – he'd have like to have seen them try to balance a series of mathematical equation sat the same time as struggling to revise for a simulation exam on the intricacies of space-flight – but it had also provided him with an added incentive to make them eat their words by proving them all wrong.

And he had. And his brothers had been suitably impressed; although Gordon had jokingly suggested he'd paid Fermat to help him, Virgil and Scott had congratulated him but also worried that he was still too young …

But Alan hadn't cared. Because when it really mattered he'd been able to hand over a report card without cringing and his dad – the person whose opinion mattered the _most_ – his dad had been proud of him.

And so here he was: a fully qualified, flight-worthy Thunderbird. A member of the world-famous International Rescue, risking his life to help those in need. Everything in his life was coming together; he had his whole future to look forward to as his dad endlessly reminded him. So why did he feel as if everything was on the verge of falling apart?

It couldn't just be this problem with Tin-Tin … could it? Surely she didn't mean _that _much to him, that the thought that he had ruined everything between them had made him feel so miserable?

Alan shook his head. His thoughts just kept chasing each other round and round in his head and it was beginning to make him feel slightly queasy. The last thing he needed was to be sick and then have to put up with Gordon's teasing for the rest of the journey. Better to think about nothing.

Alan pressed his face against the window and found that thinking about nothing was a lot harder than it sounded.

* * *

Tin-Tin wearily pushed a strand of hair out of her face. Her dark hair was pulled back tightly into a ponytail but as usual certain tendrils were determined to escape and plague her; tickling her nose and obscuring her vision. Not for the first time Tin-Tin considered how much easier having short hair would be.

Her eyes scanned the console of Mobile Control, noting which buttons were flashing and making sure that she had no incoming connections. She was currently in the process of updating those concerned with the status of the mission. Keeping everyone informed of the various stages of a rescue was an important job and Tin-Tin took it very seriously. However, standing behind Mobile Control she couldn't help smiling as she contacted Thunderbird 5 and the familiar face of John Tracy appeared on her screen.

"_Thunderbird 5_ _receiving. Go ahead Tin-Tin_."

"Scott's securing the area. First reports indicate that four of the eleven men have been recovered by the other mineworkers, but the remaining seven have been cut off by the fire. They're still trapped inside the mine. The local fire services have been doing their best but they can't get far enough into the mine to be of any real help."

"_Thunderbird 2?_"

"ETA ten minutes."

"_FAB. Keep me informed and I'll pass the information on to the island. Thunderbird 5 out._"

John's face faded from the screen but Tin-Tin found herself continuing to stare at the blank display. It was funny, but up until this moment she'd never noticed how much Alan looked like his older brother. They shared the blond hair and blue eyes that the rest of the Tracy family lacked, but there was even a similarity in their facial structures if you looked hard enough.

Alan … Tin-Tin frowned irritably. He was invading every area of her life at the moment. Even when she should have been concentrating on helping to save the lives of seven men, she couldn't stop every thought she had from coming back to Alan. It was insane; this was neither the time nor the place to be worrying about the situation with Alan. If she wasn't careful then she was going to start making mistakes – and she didn't think anyone would be particularly impressed if she tried to claim it was all Alan's fault for distracting her. No, she had to stop this. _Now_.

Tin-Tin shook herself and then prepared to contact Scott so that she could update him on Thunderbird 2's status.

* * *

Scott wiped the sweat from his forehead with one hand, leaving a streak of soot across his brow. Although he'd only been at the rescue-scene for twenty or so minutes, his fireproof suit was already blackened in places and one of the sleeves was torn where a grateful miner had gripped it too tightly. At least he managed to secure the scene; with the aid of the local firemen he had established a perimeter behind which the general public and various television companies were being kept away from the action.

Not that much was actually happening at the moment. Although Scott _had_ entered the mine, he had quickly been forced back by the intensity of the fire before he had reached the lower levels. So he had retreated, bringing with him the four miners who had become disorientated by the smoke on the upper level. The knowledge that there were still people trapped below the surface preyed on Scott's mind but he knew there was nothing more he could do until Thunderbird 2 arrived and they could put the Firefly into action.

As if his thoughts had summoned it, the vast green cargo plane emerged from amongst the low lying clouds and circled the scene of the accident, looking for an appropriate landing site. Scott shielded his eyes against the sudden glare of the sun and watched as Virgil expertly lowered the large craft, bringing her down gently to rest alongside Thunderbird 1 in the open moor-land near to the mine.

As Scott trotted closer, Thunderbird 2 rose up on its hydraulic legs, depositing one of her many pods on the ground as she did so. Scott knew without having to ask that the Firefly was inside and sure enough, the pod doors opened and the fire-fighting machine trundled down the ramp.

A short time later, two figures descended from the main body of Thunderbird 2. They were already dressed in their protective fireproof clothing, although like Scott, both held their headgear in their hands. Because of this Scott was able to scan their faces as they came closer, hurrying past the Firefly. What he saw troubled him; while Gordon looked focused, Alan looked anything but.

In fact, he wore a most un-Alan-like expression on his face. Normally his youngest brother was bouncing on the balls of his feet, over-flowing with eagerness, at the beginning of a rescue. Today however he looked drawn and tired, and the blank expression he was exhibiting was a sure sign that his mind was elsewhere.

Scott sighed inwardly. The last thing he needed today was to have to deal with an absent-minded Alan.

"What's the situation?" Gordon asked after Scott had reached them and any pleasantries had been exchanged.

"There are seven men trapped somewhere on the lower levels of the mine. They might be together, they might be in smaller groups or the might be on their own – we just don't know at the moment. Now I managed to clear the top level of the mine but the fire prevented me from going any further."

"Which is where the Firefly comes in," Gordon concluded.

Scott nodded. "Exactly." He lifted his headset so that the internal microphone was next to his mouth. "Virg, I want you to take her down and clear a path through the fire for us. I'm not sure you'll be able to put it out completely but you should be able to control it while we get the rest of the miners out."

"_FAB._" The Firefly began to make its way towards the mine and the remaining three Tracy brothers turned and jogged after it.

"As for the rest of us," Scott continued, "We're going to work at getting the miners out. Gordon and I will take the lower levels and Alan, you'll take the upper one. When we find the miners one of us will bring them up to you. It'll be your job to get them out of the mine and to the first aid area. Understand?"

While Gordon nodded easily and pulled his helmet on in preparation, Alan looked disgruntled. "I'm not a kid, Scott. I _have _done this before."

"And _I _haven't got the time to put up with your interruptions," Scott said sharply. "Every second counts. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," Alan muttered sullenly, pulling on his own helmet before Scott could pull him up on his distinct lack of respect.

* * *

Following in the Firefly's wake, Gordon thought longingly of the ocean. While this was by no means the first fire-rescue he'd taken part in, it was one of the hottest. And with the added threat of another of the lamps exploding, it was also one of the more dangerous. Not that danger bothered Gordon – he just hated being so hot. He was perspiring so much that the surface of his facemask was starting to fog up.

Gordon swung his flashlight to the left so that it illuminated the side of the mineshaft. On his right Scott did the same, their torches looking for any sign of life.

"_Nothing here_." Scott's words sounded in Gordon's headset. His voice reflected the same frustration Gordon felt. They'd been strategically working their way through the mine for a good ten minutes now and still hadn't found any sign of the missing miners. The chance of finding any of them alive was becoming more and more unlikely.

"I've got nothing as well," Gordon reported, playing his beam of light along the wall.

"_Scott, I've reached the third level but the fire's getting worse_," Virgil spoke from the Firefly. "_I'm going to have to stop for a bit._"

"_FAB. Just get it clear as fast as you can. And keep your eyes peeled for any of the miners._"

"_Will do_."

Gordon's light moved slowly down the tunnel, when something caught his attention and he paused, looking back.

His eyes widened. "Scott – there's a passageway here."

Scott's beam joined his and moved around the opening, defining it.

"_Check it out_," his brother ordered, "_but stay in radio contact and for God's sake don't get lost_!"

Gordon shook his head at that last comment. Scott tended to get very short-tempered and blunt on missions – it led to some very interesting confrontations between him and the equally hot-tempered Alan. Gordon, on the other hand, merely grinned at his brother and moved into the tunnel.

Gripping his flashlight tightly in one gloved hand, Gordon proceeded down the dark tunnel. His progress was painfully slow – he had to check every inch of his surroundings – and the restrictive nature of his breathing apparatus made it even more arduous.

Yet it seemed that luck was on International Rescue's side because just when he was about to abandon his exploration, the light from his torch passed over a figure on the ground.

"Scott, I've found one!" he called excitedly, bending down beside the man and pulling off one of his gloves. He pressed his fingers against the miner's soot-coated neck and was rewarded with a paint pulse. "And he's alive!"

"_Any visible injuries?_"

With the aid of the torchlight, Gordon inspected the man closely. "Not that I can see. I think the smoke must have gotten to him."

"_Alright, get him up to the surface. I'll let Alan know you're coming._"

* * *

Alan was glad to see his brother emerging out of the darkness – and not just because of the miner Gordon was carrying. It meant that rather than standing around like a spare part, he actually had something to do for a change. Even if it was only helping the injured man outside it was better than nothing.

"_Hey_,_Squirt._"

Alan ignored Gordon's words and hurried forward, wrapping the miner's free arm around his shoulders and making sure he had a good grip on the unconscious man.

"_I've got to go back. Will you be alright on your own_?"

Alan's irritation flared. "I think I can manage to get him to the mine entrance without you holding my hand, Gordon."

"_I was talking about supporting his weight, not your competence._" Alan heard the exasperation in his brother's voice.

He flushed. "Sorry. And yes, I'll be fine."

"_Good. I'll see you later._"

"FAB."

When Gordon headed back down into the mine and Alan was forced to support the whole weight of the man, he realised what his brother meant. This miner was _heavy_; he was a big man with a thatch of dark hair that was barely distinguishable from his soot-stained face. His hands were the same size as Alan's shoes and the young man shuddered to think how much muscle was hiding under the miner's singed uniform.

"Come on," he grunted, heaving the man along towards the daylight shining through the entrance to the mine. It took a lot of effort but after several minutes of sweating he stumbled out into the sunlight, the miner still slumped against him.

Tin-Tin was there like a shot, momentarily abandoning her post as Mobile Control. Under her efficient direction, the local fire chief helped Alan to carry the man to one of the waiting ambulances, where the paramedics were quick to start assessing his condition.

Alan wanted to stay so that he could find out how the man was doing but he knew he had to return to the mine in case one of his brothers needed him. The headset frequencies only worked at certain distances and if he was outside of the mine then there was a chance he wouldn't hear any contact that was made – especially considering he had momentarily moved his headgear to preserve his clean air supply.

"He's going to be okay."

Tin-Tin's voice startled him. She had moved up beside him while he had been watching the paramedics stabilising the miner. Alan looked across at her and found that she was watching him, her pretty face tense. It was only then that he realised they were the first words either of them had spoken to one another since he'd kissed her.

Alan opened his mouth to reply but he couldn't think of anything to say other than, "I'd better go back." He toyed with the helmet in his hands rather than looking at her.

Tin-Tin's expression darkened slightly. "I suppose you better had," she said coolly, giving Alan the distinct impression that he'd said the wrong thing.

Alan wavered, torn between asking her what he'd done and returning to the mine. In the end he opted for the latter – after all, it _was _what he was supposed to be doing. Not to mention that it didn't require him to try and sift through his turbulent Tin-Tin-related emotions.

* * *

Tin-Tin watched angrily as Alan Tracy turned and walked back towards the mine without a backwards glance. She had just made peaceful overtures towards him, had given him the _perfect _opening, and all he'd said was he had to go back to the damn mine. She knew Alan took his work seriously but that was ridiculous! It wouldn't have taken him more than a few seconds to say something,_anything_, appropriate in return.

Scowling, Tin-Tin turned back to Mobile Control. Although she tried not to, thanks to the direction in which the portable control centre was facing she couldn't help watching as Alan reached the entrance of the mine. He paused and, reaching back over his shoulder, carefully reattached his oxygen tank to the headset in his hands, presumably switching the pump back on as he did so.

In the next instant, everything changed. It was like she was watching it all in slow motion. Alan was on the threshold of the mine when a deep rumbling sound burst out of its depths. He froze in the process of putting his helmet back on and levelled his flashlight, directing the thin beam into the depths of the mineshaft. Then his hand rose up in front of his face and had Tin-Tin been able to see his expression she would have noted that his eyes widened in horror.

"Alan," she whispered as a sudden chill of premonition swept through her. "Alan, get –"

In the next instant, the earth gave a shuddering scream and a huge cloud of dust, rubble and pieces of timber burst out of the mine. Alan was engulfed in the blast, disappearing from Tin-Tin's vision as the ground began to shake. Screams of "_Naeargryn_! Earthquake!" reached her ears as she clung to Mobile Control, fighting to maintain her balance. Her heart was racing, her eyes were watering from all the dust and soot in the air and she felt sick with fear as they searched for any sign of Alan.

When she finally spotted him she abandoned Mobile Control without a second thought and threw herself across the trembling ground, desperate to reach him.

The force of the blast had thrown Alan a good five metres back from the entrance to the mine. He was lying on his side; his arms and legs sprawled carelessly about his person and his eyes closed.

He looked peaceful – almost like he was sleeping. It was only when she drew close enough to see the blood trickling steadily down the right hand side of his face that Tin-Tin knew something was seriously wrong.


	3. Chapter Three: Taking Control

**Chapter Three: Taking Control**

Up on Thunderbird 5, John Tracy was staring out into the vast vacuum of space. Even without the aid of his high-powered telescope, the view out of the command centre of the space station was beyond impressive. It never failed to take John's breath away – and served as a permanent reminder just why he had had chosen a career in which he spent six months of the year suspended in space.

To many other people – his little brother Alan included – life on Thunderbird 5 was insufferably dull. On some occasions several days would pass without any calls to International Rescue and the only human contact would be the nightly call to his father on Tracy Island.

And yet John didn't mind. If anything he actually enjoyed the solitude that his months up in space afforded him. It was a welcome change from the hectic household he'd left behind on Tracy Island and although it was undeniably lonely sometimes, there were definite benefits that came from living in a construction that had the best television aerial in the world.

Not that John was actually paying any attention to the baseball game that was playing on one of the vidscreens behind him. The sound was muted and the players were involved in an elaborate pantomime while the crowd showed their silent approval. The current score kept flashing up in the top left hand corner of the screen, desperate to be read, but it was only greeted by the sight of the back of John's uniform.

John continued to study the stars, his eyes drifting across the trio that formed Orion's belt and then tracing the outline of the man himself. It really was an amazing sight; the enigma of space never failed to fascinate John. The ultimate question of whether there was other intelligent life out there in the darkness was one that had captivated scientists, astronomers and astronauts alike for centuries and where better a place to be when that question was finally answered than right next to the stars themselves.

Whether it would be answered in John's lifetime was a whole different question. Considering how far the world had advanced over the last fifty years, the prediction wasn't so far-fetched. After all, who could have conceived the existence of International Rescue twenty years ago?

A quick glance at the console dragged John back to the job at hand. He frowned thoughtfully as he considered the information that was coming through to Thunderbird 5. There was a hurricane building in the Atlantic Ocean, but early reports suggested it would harmlessly dissipate before it neared the east coast of America. It was likewise with the typhoon off the coast of Australia, so while John would keep an eye out for any new developments, there was no need at present to disturb his father.

Especially not with a mission currently being undertaken. John sighed and ran a hand through his blond hair, making it stand on end. That was the very worst thing about living and working in the space station: not being able to be there when his brothers were risking their lives. It wasn't so much about participating in the rescues; it was having to sit calmly by and wait for the sporadic contact that was sent his way, without actually being able to see what was going on down on Earth.

Rural rescues like this one were the worst. At least in the big cities you could expect decent media coverage. Out in the Welsh countryside, John had to be content with a local news network whose inexperience at dealing with 'breaking news' was keeping them firmly behind the barrier that had been erected at the outskirts of the site. From the interesting shots of the back of the local fire-chiefs head that John and the ten other viewers of _Croesawu at Cilybebyll_ were receiving, they were probably better off getting down to the coalmine themselves.

John turned back to his contemplation of the hurricane. The winds in its vicinity were growing dangerous and if there were any ships got caught up in the storm then they might require International Rescue's aid. He scanned the area quickly and was relieved when nothing but static came over the radio waves. While International Rescue did occasionally field two rescues at once, the fire in Wales was already monopolising their operatives, and perhaps more importantly, the Thunderbirds.

After monitoring the typhoon for radio signals, John kicked his legs up over the arm of his chair and un-muted the volume on the baseball game. Sitting as he, eyes intent on the came, John just needed a Coke in one hand and a bucket of popcorn in the other and he'd be the epitome of The American Man.

Of course, most American men didn't watch the baseball from a station that was orbiting the Earth.

The score changed again and John found himself smiling as the underdogs took the lead. It was always rewarding to see one of the commercial giants of any sport becoming flustered at the challenge of a smaller team and up in Thunderbird 5, John willed the local boys to win. His smile grew as they scored yet another impressive series of runs but before he could get too caught up in the game, he ran a practiced eye over the rest of the console and something else snagged his attention.

It was the smaller vidscreen on which _Croesawu at Cilybebyll_ were clumsily broadcasting. The shots of curious, voyeuristic members of the public standing on their tiptoes in an attempt to see the mine had gone. In their place was a mass of confusion; people were crying out and falling to their knees, the camera was shaking so hard that the picture was becoming distorted and in the background of the hazy shot, a dark cloud was rising from the direction of the mine. Snatches of commentary from the programme's presenter – _"… never seen … some kind of explosion … cloud burst out of the mine …_" – could be heard above the cries of the crowd but the woman herself was no one in sight.

John stared blankly at the screen for several seconds, hardly believing what his eyes were showing him. Then his cool professionalism kicked in and he lunged towards the console, punching through a connection to the team at the rescue site.

"Mobile Control from Thunderbird 5."

There was no response.

John frowned, his fear growing. "Mobile Control this is Thunderbird 5 – please respond."

Once again he was greeted by the crackling of empty airwaves.

John glanced back down at the vidscreen but it was now showing the grainy black and whites of a lost connection. He was now completely blinded to whatever was happening down in Wales – and that scared John more than he liked to admit.

"Thunderbird 5 to Mobile Control. Tin-Tin, can you hear me? Please respond!"

* * *

In the wake of the ground tremors and the explosion of choking dust, the scene outside of the mine was one of utter confusion.

The firemen who had originally been called to attend the scene were grouped around their large red vehicles, listening intently to their tall, brawny leader as he attempted to take control of the situation. The paramedics who were attending to the injured miners looked shaken but continued their work with only a few worried glances at one another betraying their inner emotions. They, of all the people in the area, where used to have to remain implacable in the face of a disaster.

The few police in attendance were struggling to control the panicking crowd, particularly those miners that Scott had rescued earlier, who were straining to reach the mine in the vain hope of finding out what exactly had happened to those of their colleagues who were still trapped beneath the surface. Somewhere amongst the seething mass of people a child was crying, her thin voice raised in protest against the events that had both physically and metaphorically shaken her world.

For Tin-Tin's part, she'd hardly comprehended what the ominous rumblings and explosion of rubble signified. All she could think about was Alan; all she could see was his bloodied form lying still on the ground, and all she could was run towards him.

She'd barely moved more than ten feet however, when someone grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her back.

"Don't go near the mine – it's still unstable!"

It was the leader of the firemen, a dark-haired man who had introduced himself earlier as Rhys Evans. Scott had been liaising with him since reaching the site and he had proved himself to be a consummate professional. Yet rather than the presence of such a competent individual warming Tin-Tin, she only saw him as an unwelcome barrier between her and Alan.

She tried to pull out of his grasp but his grip on her arm simply tightened, until he was holding her hard enough to bruise.

Tin-Tin fought to compose herself and not lash out at Rhys. After all, he was only doing his job and if she hadn't been so concerned about Alan then she would have recognised that fact with greater clarity.

As it was, she quickly realised she wasn't going to be able to break his grip. Instead, she drew herself up and spoke as forcefully as she could. "I am merely trying to ascertain the specifics of my colleague's injuries. And as I am a fully qualified member of International Rescue and I completely understand the risks involved. I will take full responsibility for my actions."

The fireman looked doubtful; Tin-Tin knew it was probably the unhelpful combination of her being nineteen and also female. Instead of becoming indignant as she would have in any other situation, Tin-Tin took advantage of Rhys's uncertainty and shouldered past him without another word, intent upon Alan.

When she reached him, her inner calm and composure fled and she fell to her knees. Her hands frantically sought the wound that was spilling his blood so freely. It was difficult to find it; his hair was already stained red, but when she did she was able to breathe far more easily for it was smaller than she had imagined and the bleeding was already beginning to slow.

However, Alan was still unconscious. Rudimentary First Aid lessons came back to Tin-Tin and she prised his eyelids open, willing his pupils to react to the light while trying not to give in to her panic.

Several long, horrible seconds passed and then his eyelids flickered. Tin-Tin pulled back quickly, her arms coming around to support his weight and turn his head slightly. "Alan?"

He groaned but it was the most wonderful sound that Tin-Tin had ever heard.

"Oh Alan, thank God. Are you okay? How did you feel?"

Alan blinked up at her and then he groaned again. "Like Virg just landed his 'bird on top of me."

Despite the severity of the situation, Tin-Tin found herself grinning. She felt weak with relief; as if she was going to collapse then and there. After all, if Alan was well enough to make jokes then surely he was going to be okay!

Alan reached up and gingerly probed the wound on his head. When he winced, Tin-Tin caught his bloodstained hand in hers and pulled it away.

"Don't poke at it – you'll just make it worse," she scolded.

"Who are you, my mother?"

"No, I'm just your concerned gir – uh, friend …"

The word came out of Tin-Tin's mouth awkwardly and hung in the air between them. Suddenly she found she couldn't meet Alan's blue gaze. Her concern for his wellbeing had overridden the problems that lingered between them, but now she knew he was going to be alright, those problems had come swimming back to the surface again.

To cover her confusion, Tin-Tin yanked Alan to his feet, releasing her grip on his as  
soon as she could. She regretted a moment when Alan swayed unsteadily on his feet and she was forced to pull his arm around her shoulders and support him.

"We need to get your head seen to," she told him needlessly, leading him back towards the paramedics.

"W-wait," he breathed but she ignored him and continued moving.

"Tin-Tin – _please_ … what – what happened?"

She stopped then and stared at him in surprise. How could he have forgotten? "The mine … you were about to go back in when a huge cloud burst out of it. It threw you backwards and you must have hit your head on the ground." She didn't add how scared she'd been in that split second when she thought that he had been killed.

Alan blinked at her; the expression on his face was slightly confused. "But Tin-Tin … Tin-Tin, where are my brothers?"

Tin-Tin's surprised turned to horror as the implications of his question suddenly struck her.

* * *

Gordon Tracy was trapped between a rock and a hard place.

Literally.

The left hand side of his body was pressed up against what he thought was the wall of the mine tunnel and the right was sharing the same space as a huge pile of rocks where the roof had collapsed.

To make matters even worse, the stones were hot, even through his protective gear. Which suggested that somewhere close, the fire was still burning unabated, creating the possibility of a second collapse.

Gordon shifted his weight and bit his lip as a bolt of fiery pain shot up his arm and along his shoulder. _Great, just what I need to make this situation perfect. A damn dislocated shoulder_._Should make digging my way out of here pretty interesting._

Gordon gritted his teeth and moved again, desperately trying to pull himself free of his stone tomb. Inch by inch he dragged his battered body out of the niche he'd become trapped in, trying his best not to knock his injured arm against any of the rocks. He succeeded for the most part and when he finally tore himself out from the rocks that had snared him, he began to breathe more easily.

That was until he looked about his new location and found himself in yet another, slightly larger, enclosed space.

Gordon groaned, the sound echoing oddly inside his helmet. Out of one life-threateningly-small space and into another still-life-threatening-but-not-quite-so-small one.

The pain in his arm making him feel dizzy, Gordon sagged against the rocks at his back, catching his breath. Not for the first time since the collapse, his thoughts started straying towards his absent brothers. He'd just got back to Scott when the earth around him had started to rumble threateningly. In the torrent of falling rocks and timber that had followed they had become separated and the ominous silence over the radio waves of his headset was something Gordon hardly wanted to contemplate.

He'd tried his own when he'd first regained his wits but there had been no reply from any of his brothers, or from Mobile Control. Virgil, he wasn't so worried about – the Firefly was made of an alloy that could withstand temperatures of a thousand degrees and it was equally impenetrable. Then there was Tin-Tin – as far as Gordon knew she had definitely been outside the mine at the time of the collapse so in all likelihood she was perfectly safe. This knowledge reassured him slightly; it meant that someone, at least, was above ground and able to co-ordinate the rescue effort.

It was Scott and Alan's fates that preyed on Gordon's mind. Like him they'd been in the mine when it had collapsed, with nothing more than a protective fire-suit to stop them from being crushed by a barrage of rocks. He desperately hoped that his inability to contact them was because their headsets had been damaged rather than that they were physically unable to respond.

Then there was himself. Gordon was under no illusions that this tomb he found himself trapped inside could soon become his final resting place. The lack of any natural light suggested his rock-prison was airtight and while this wasn't an immediate concern, Gordon knew it was something he'd have to think about if he didn't manage to free himself before his oxygen tank ran out. That gave him about twenty-five minutes – and while he _could _sit back and hope that someone would rescue him, he could also set about trying to rescue himself.

He stepped forward carefully and began feeling his way along the wall with his good hand, looking for any kind of cracks or fissures that he could exploit. He could hardly see his hand in front of his face thanks to the loss of his flashlight when the mine had started to collapse and with his injured shoulder throbbing with every step, his progress was painfully slow.

Finally his efforts paid off. Just above the level of the floor, he felt a gap in the rocks. Carefully pulling off his glove, he held his hand against the gap and was rewarded by a thin stream of warm air. While it wasn't enough to breathe by, it was enough to give Gordon fresh hope. Kneeling down in front of the gap, he replaced his glove and gave his prison one last cursory glance.

"Good job I'm not claustrophobic," he muttered as he started to dig fragments of rock from the gap, increasingly its size. "Cos this is going to be a _long_ day."

* * *

"Thunderbird 5 to Mobile Control – please respond."

It was the same monotonous call that John had issued a hundred times over the last five minutes, as he grew increasingly more frantic. This time however, it was greated by something more than silence. This time it was finally answered.

"_Mobile Control receiving_."

Tin-Tin's face appeared on the screen but John was so overcome with his own emotions that had barely registered how scared and upset she looked.

"Tin-Tin, where the hell where you?" he demanded, his growing concern making his tone much sharper than usual.

"_I'm sorry, John, I _–"

"You should _never_ have abandoned Mobile Control," John interrupted severely. "I've been trying to get through for the last five minutes. What happened? Where were you"

Tin-Tin blinked furiously and it was only then that John noticed her dark eyes were brimming with tears. His anger started to melt away as he realised how upset and scared she looked but before he could apologise, another familiar face appeared on the vidscreen, peering over Tin-Tin's shoulder.

John's eyes widened in horror as they took in the state of his youngest brother. "Alan!"

Alan tried to smile. "_I'm okay, John. Just banged my head a bit when the mine blew_."

"A bit? Alan there's blood all over your face!"

"_Johnny, I'm _fine." Alan's eyes were huge in his bloodstained face and there was no mistaking the warning flashing through them. "_We've got bigger things to deal with than a bump on my head, believe me_."

John tensed, knowing what was coming. "Scott, Virgil and Gordon?"

"_And the remaining six miners_," Alan finished shakily. "_They were all in the mine when it started to collapse_." He leaned heavily against the console, his eyes closing momentarily.

John frowned at him but knew his brother wouldn't appreciate any more prying questions and so said instead, "Collapsed?"

Tin-Tin nodded. Although still pale, the moisture had gone from her eyes and she appeared to have regained some of her normal composure. "_The fire chief – Rhys – has spoken to us. He believes the fire weakened the wooden supports in the mine. What we thought was an earthquake was actually those supports giving way and parts of the mine collapsing. Rhys isn't letting anyone near the mine; he said the whole area is unstable and it's too dangerous_."

"_For civilians perhaps, but not for International Rescue_," Alan argued. "_We have to get them out_."

"_But - but we don't even know where to start_!" Tin-Tin protested, the enormity of the situation obviously getting to her.

"_You want to just leave them_?" Alan's tempered flared.

"_Of course not, I just _-"

"_We _have _to get them out_," Alan repeated firmly. Then his thinking appeared to falter and the defensive expression faded from his face. He looked beseechingly at his older brother. "_What should we do, John_?"

It was a measure of how serious the situation was that Alan was asking for help. Normally he would have blustered his way through, determined to prove that he could cope as well as any of his brothers. However, now he and Tin-Tin were alone and as the youngest members of International Rescue, they were the least well equipped to deal with their current situation. They were still only kids really and now that the responsibility of orchestrating the whole rescue had fallen onto their shoulders, they looked horribly frightened and out of their depth.

John took a deep breath and fought to calm himself. The last thing Alan and Tin-Tin needed was him losing his cool with them because they'd made some early bad decisions. Nor could he let his fear for his brothers overcome him. They needed him and perhaps more importantly, International Rescue needed them.

"Alright," he said slowly, a rough plan forming in his mind. "Here's what we'll do."


	4. Chapter Four: Role Reversal

**Chapter Four: Role Reversal**

Alan Tracy was scared.

That wasn't something he admitted very often, but if someone had asked him how he was feeling at that very moment, then he would have blurted the word out without caring how it made him look in front of his brother and Tin-Tin.

" … _Take control of the scene – work with the fire-chief, he sounds like a good man_ …"

He wasn't ready for this – this _responsibility._ He was only eighteen, for God's sake! He'd only been a fully-fledge Thunderbird for a couple of months – he wasn't supposed to be put in command of a mission until he was at least Gordon's age!

He was scared – and not just for himself.

" … _First try and contact Scott and the others via their headsets. If that doesn't work, try their watches …_"

His brothers … Alan tried to push the thought away and concentrate on what John was saying but he couldn't stop a series of horrific images from filling his mind. Of Gordon trapped and injured. Of Scott slowly suffocating from lack of air. Of Virgil being burnt by the inescapable fire.

" … _You'll need to take the Mole in_ …"

Of all of them dying. Alone. While he flailed around helplessly, wasting time by having to double-check everything with John.

" … _Can't do much about the fire – we just have to hope Virg put it out before the mine collapsed …_"

Alan took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. He didn't completely understand why he was getting so worked up. After all, this certainly wasn't the first time one of his brothers had been injured during a rescue and nor was this the first time that a rescue had gone wrong. There had been that episode with the Hood when his whole family had almost been killed – and he hadn't been immobilised by fear back then. No, he'd dived in blindly, recklessly – but at the end of it all he'd somehow managed to do the right thing. So why was it so different this time? Why was the thought of all this responsibility making him feel ill?

Alan had never handled responsibility well. He didn't like having people rely on him for direction; he much preferred to do his own thing. Do things _his _way without having to worry about anyone else. It was a fairly selfish attitude to take but perhaps it resulted from growing up with four older brothers. There hadn't exactly been a lot of responsibility left when Alan became old enough to shoulder it and what little his dad had given him had been greeted with poor grace. Alan was under no illusions; he was the unpredictable Tracy – the Wildchild. Responsibility and Alan Tracy were not a healthy combination.

" … _sending over Dad and Brains in Thunderbird 3, but they won't reach you for a good hour or so _…"

Alan rubbed his forehead distractedly as John continued to outline his plan. Worries about responsibility clashed with worries about his brothers and on top of the headache that was assaulting his temple he was beginning to feel dizzy and faintly nauseous.

" … Alan?"

Dimly he became aware that someone was speaking to him. In an effort to look attentive, he dragged himself up from where he was leaning on Mobile Control and tried to look conscientious.

"Alan?" the voice came again, but it took a few seconds before Alan realised it wasn't John as he had expected, but Tin-Tin. "Are you okay?"

She was looking at him – or to be more exact, she was watching his hands. Alan followed her gaze down and saw they were trembling visibly. Irritated and not a little embarrassed, he balled his fingers up into fists and glared at her. "What?" The last person he wanted to know about his weakness and fears was Tin-Tin.

A look of hurt passed over her face, but was gone before Alan could consider its meaning.

He turned back to John. "Anything else?" he said brusquely, trying to pretend he couldn't feel his hands shaking.

"_That's everything I can think of at the moment. But don't hesitate to contact me again if you need help_." John's blue eyes locked on Alan's. "_You can do this, Al. Don't ever think otherwise_."

Why had he been cursed with such perceptive siblings?

Alan fixed as confident an expression as he could on his face. " 'Course I can. See you on the other side."

"_Good luck_."

* * *

If Virgil Tracy hadn't been at the controls of the Firefly when the mine began to collapse, he would have been killed instantly. Is it was, the force of the falling rocks had buffeted the small vehicle for every angle; it had been crushed like a concertina. Miraculously, Virgil was mostly uninjured, although the console in front of him hadn't been so lucky. For the last few minutes he'd been attempting to recover what computer components he could and repair the sparking communication system.

A jumping spark caught his hand and Virgil swore as it caught the bare skin of his hands.

"_If – if Grandma heard you u-using language like that she … she'd wash your m-mouth out_."

Virgil was so surprised he almost dropped the wires he was busy twisting together. "Scott?"

A weak laugh came through his headgear. "_Could never … never fool you_."

"Are you okay? Where are you?"

"_I'm not exactly sure_ …"

"Scott?" Virgil could hear his brother's laboured breathing and it frightened him. "Scott – what's wrong?"

" … _Some of the stone _…" Scott broke off and started coughing. Virgil waited anxiously until he could speak again. "_S-Some of the stone fell onto m-my legs. Pinned me d-down … I can't – can't move_ …"

Virgil blanched as his brother's voice trailed off into silence and he bit back his fear with difficulty. It was always terrible when one of his brothers became injured during a rescue, but usually something could be done to help them soon after the injury had been sustained. This time he was trapped in the broken shell of the machine that was supposed to have saved lives and had no hope of reaching Scott, even if he could have worked out where his older brother was in the mine. To make matters worse, Scott sounded dangerously weak; some of his words were slurred and he spoke as each word cost him more than Virgil could imagine.

This scared Virgil more than he was ready to admit. For as long as he could remember, Scott had been there. Strong, commanding Scott, whether it was at home on Tracy Island or abroad in a rescue. Always ready to make the difficult decisions, always prepared to lead as Virgil and the younger Tracy's were always ready to follow. He was an excellent Field Commander and several handfuls of people in the world were alive today thanks to Scott's quick thinking and ingenuity. To have Scott suddenly become one of those victims in need of rescuing represented a startling role-reversal that Virgil hardly wanted to contemplate.

"Scott, do you know whereabouts in the mine you are?" he asked finally, voice tight with tension.

"_No – no clue. Sorry_ …"

"It's okay." Virgil squinted in the dim light as the two wires he was holding sparked suddenly, reminding him that he had other things beside Scott's condition to worry about. "Just hang in there, Scott. I'm trying to get help."

" … _What_?"

"I'm trying to repair the Firefly's connection to Mobile Control," Virgil explained as he continued to work steadily. "It got smashed up in the cave-in. Only problem is, Mechanics 101 was a long time ago." He wiped a hand across his brow. "And it's getting damn hot in here."

"_You'll do … you'll do it_."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Virgil retorted with a levity he certainly didn't feel. He bent over the broken and frayed wires, taking care not to get burnt. "How's about you entertain me while you work?"

There was no reply.

Virgil paused. "Scott?" he called worriedly.

" … _I'm still here_," his brother's words came back, thick with pain.

"Just checking." He sought about for something to talk about. "Say, you haven't heard from Al or Gordon, have you?"

Scott grunted what Virgil took to be a negative. He wasn't particularly surprised, but it did nothing to alleviate the growing fear he felt for all three of his brothers, trapped somewhere in the mine. "All this fallen rock could be blocking their radio signals – hey, that means you're probably quite close to the Firefly."

"_Y-yeah … I think I was when the – when the rocks fell_."

This fresh knowledge galvanised Virgil into swifter action and he bent over the gently smoking control panel. A bead of sweat trickled down his cheek and he wiped it away distractedly. It really was becoming uncomfortably warm inside the body of the Firefly and the wires he so desperately needed to manipulate were in danger of slipping clear out of his hands.

A sudden thought about the increasing temperature of the Firefly struck Virgil. "Scott, is there any sign of the fire near you?"

There was a brief silence punctuated only by Scott's harsh breathing. "_N-no fire here_ …" he gasped out finally. "_T-thank – thank God_ …"

Virgil tried to peer out of the Firefly's windows but all he could see was the rock that was pressing against the rescue machine. "You might want to hold onto that thanks, big brother. 'Cos unless Firefly's been fitted with heaters, I'm pretty sure the fire's still in the area."

"_I – I'll be okay_."

"How can you be so sure?"

"_I'm trapped_ –" He broke off to cough. "_I'm trapped in an – an enclosed space. Fire needs oxygen to b-burn – so no fire_."

Virgil had to marvel at his brother. Even trapped and in pain, Scott's mind was still sharp. What he didn't like however, was the lack of oxygen around Scott.

"How much clean air have you got left?"

"_Not sure. Gauge – the gauge is broken_ …"

Virgil blew out the breath he had been holding. "Guess I'd better work quickly then."

* * *

"Mobile Control to Gordon. Gordon, please respond."

Tin-Tin, who was studying the console, shook her head. "Nothing."

"Let me try Scott again –"

"Alan, I think they're too far away for the signal to work."

Alan stared at her. "We can't stop trying!"

"I'm not suggesting we do." Tin-Tin was beginning to become angry herself. "But weren't you listening to John? If we can't reach them via the headsets or their watches, we should track them through their transmitters."

Without waiting for Alan's heated reply, Tin-Tin bent over the console. She felt his eyes boring into the back of her head but ignored him. This was not the time for them to have an argument. That could wait until they were safely back on Tracy Island, when Tin-Tin was quite prepared to give Alan Tracy a piece of her mind. This rescue was proof enough that having lingering feelings of doubt, anger and confusion milling around between two of the members of International Rescue certainly wasn't helping matters. In fact, her and Alan's problems were on the verge of seriously affecting their work and with Alan's brothers' lives at stake, it was something that couldn't be allowed to happen.

"Okay." Tin-Tin traced the display with her finger. "Finally some good news."

"What is it?" Alan joined her at the console, his anger momentarily forgotten.

"I'm picking up all three of their signals and even better, they're all fairly close together."

"Which should make the rescue easier," Alan concluded her thoughts, rubbing a hand over the back of his head and then wincing.

Tin-Tin frowned at him. "You should get that seen to."

Alan shrugged her concern away. "I'm fine – just a bit banged up. Besides, we don't have time to be dealing with a little cut on my head at the moment."

Tin-Tin wanted to argue that it was rather more than just a 'little cut' but she knew her words would do no good. Alan would probably just get angry with her again and that was the last thing they needed. "Well at least wash that blood from your face –" She reached up to touch his cheek but he caught her hand in his, preventing her from reaching him.

"Tin-Tin we don't have time! Don't you understand? While you're here worrying about a bit of blood on my face, my brothers could be _dying_!"

Tin-Tin stared up into his blue eyes and the hot words that had instantly risen to her lips faded. There was such naked fear in his eyes that Tin-Tin felt her heart break. She realised then that despite his outer exterior, Alan was terrified and barely managing to hold himself together. He was hiding behind angry words and sharp retorts while inwardly agonizing over the fate of his missing brothers.

Her gaze softened. "I'm sorry, Alan. You're right. Go – go and save your brothers."

He wavered, his face twisting. "Tin-Tin –"

"Go," she urged. "They need you."

He lingered for a few more seconds and then nodded. Releasing her hand, he turned and ran across the ground towards where Thunderbird 2 was staging a silent vigil above her pod.

Tin-Tin watched as he disappeared inside the green pod, unconsciously holding her hand against her chest. Her fingers were still tingling from where Alan had touched them; it made her feel suddenly close to him and she needed that comfort now.

Someone clearing the throat from behind her disturbed her brief oasis of calm. She turned to see Chief fireman Rhys standing patiently beside Mobile Control, his yellow helmet held in his hands.

"We've secured the area," he reported succinctly, apparently having gotten over his initial surprise of finding himself subordinate to a teenage girl. "We believe it will remain stable as long as no great amount of pressure is put upon the ground. But we can't get into the mine – the entrance is blocked."

"We can handle that," Tin-Tin assured him.

Rhys frowned. "How?"

As if on cue, the doors of the pod re-opened and the Mole's distinctive figure appeared, rolling down the ramp and onto the grass.

Instead of gaping as Tin-Tin had expected him to, Rhys merely raised his eyebrows. "That's a mighty big drill."

"It'll do the job," Tin-Tin assured him, quick to defend Brains's invention.

"I'm sure it will – but not alone. On this one I think you might need our help."

Tin-Tin looked up at the man. He had a kind face, she decided, and right now a kind face was an invaluable asset. "I think we need all the help we can get," she admitted.

* * *

Gordon Tracy's hole was now big enough to fit his hand through. He thought it was quite an achievement for someone with a dislocated shoulder and nothing to dig with but a sharp fragment of rock.

The problem was he was getting tired now. His good hand was beginning to cramp under the strain and there was simply no question of him swapping hands with his shoulder still out of alignment. The initial agony had faded to a dull ache, but the pain still flared up whenever the dislocated bones grated against one another. He'd found the best plan was to keep it as immobile as possible and had therefore tucked it safely inside his fire-protective clothing.

Gordon shifted his position on the ground, his good hand brushing against the cylinder that was solely responsible for him still being alive. The oxygen tank was lying alongside him on the ground, its gauge pressed against the ground. Not that it would have been any better in another position; it was so dark inside Gordon's prison that he wouldn't have been able to read the numbers on the dial anyway. But it did serve as a reminder as to why he was trying to dig his way out and also why he didn't have the luxury of taking long breaks.

Grimacing, Gordon adjusted his sweaty grip on the sharp piece of rock and resumed his determined digging.

* * *

"_Alan_?" The communications array on the control panel lit up and Alan recognised Tin-Tin's voice, despite the break in protocol.

"Mole receiving."

"_I've just heard from Virgil_."

Relief rushed through Alan. "He's okay? He's alive – well obviously he's alive because he spoke to you … what did he say?" He adjusted the direction of the Mole with trembling hands.

"_He's okay – but trapped inside the Firefly. But Scott_ –"

"Scott? You spoke to Scott too?"

"_Well, not exactly –_"

"So Virg spoke to Scott?"

"_Well, yes but –_"

Her evasive manner only served to aggravate Alan's growing headache and he felt his temper rising. "But? But what?"

There was a pause. "_He's been injured_," she admitted finally in a small voice.

Horrifying images of an injured Scott flashed through Alan's mind. It seemed inconceivable that Scott, their Field Commander; the strong, confident man who calmly co-ordinated their rescues had been put out of action. It just served to make Alan feel his responsibility even more.

"How badly?" he forced himself to ask, his heart thumping unpleasantly.

"_His legs are pinned beneath some rocks._"

That sounded bad. That sounded _really _bad.

"How far am I out now?"

There was a brief silence as he waited for Tin-Tin to trace his position within the mine. "_You're approaching the second level now. Your brot – the other members of our team are at the end of that level._"

"FAB."

Alan stared out into the darkness of the tunnel he was burrowing through the fallen rock. The lack of light and the crushing weight of the rock on either side of him was so oppressive that Alan was beginning to feel claustrophobic. He shuddered to think what his brothers were going through. "Have you heard anything from Gordon yet?"

Tin-Tin's voice, when it came back to him, was worried. "_No, nothing_."

_Gordon,_ Alan thought bleakly, remembering how short-tempered he'd been with his brother earlier. If that was the last conversation he ever got to have with Gordon, he'd never forgive himself …

His head gave a particularly vicious throb, but it served to pull Alan out of his morbid thoughts. He turned his attention back to the task at hand: navigating a safe passageway through the crumbling mine without tripping a further collapse.

Progress was painfully slow. Alan had to stop every thirty feet or so, so that the Welsh fire-fighting teams could erect the sturdy steel supports they were using to stabilise the mineshaft. In his head Alan knew these delays were necessary but the more passionate side of his mind was telling him that every minute counted and while he was impatiently waiting for yet another support to be put into place, his brothers could very well by dying.

_Don't think about that,_ he told himself firmly, pushing back the nausea that had risen along with the thought. _Focus on the mission._

His brothers were relying on him.

* * *

"_Mobile Control out_."

Virgil sagged back in his seat. Despite the severity of his current situation, he found a relieved smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth. Alan was okay. In fact, he was better than okay – he was currently on his way to single-handedly rescue him, Scott, Gordon and the rest of the miners still trapped under the ground.

Normally Virgil would have worried about the responsibility Alan was shouldering – in fact, he would have been worried for any of his brothers in Alan's situation. However, at the moment it seemed like the answers to all their problems and he found himself clinging to the promise that sometime soon they would all be free of this mine that was in serious danger of becoming their tombs.

He clicked his headset on. "Scott?"

Silence echoed back along the airwaves.

A chill ran through Virgil's body. "Scott?" he called again, louder this time.

Once more there was no reply. Not even the sound of Scott's heavy breathing reached his ears.

Panic starting rising up inside of Virgil, threatening to overwhelm him. "Scott, can you hear me? Talk to me!"

His brother was silent.

Deathly silent.


	5. Chapter Five: A Shortness of Breath

**Chapter Five: A Shortness of Breath**

It was supposed to have been a straightforward rescue. One of his boys would take the Firefly in while the others worked to locate those miners trapped beneath the ground. Not an easy task certainly, but rather mundane by International Rescue's standards.

This wasn't supposed to have happened. Everything wasn't supposed to have become so horribly complicated. And John's drawn face certainly wasn't supposed to have appeared on the vidscreen in his office with the bad news.

Scott, Virgil and Gordon … all trapped somewhere inside the collapsed mine. And Alan and Tin-Tin, struggling to stay in control of the situation while not having the training to be able to cope effectively on their own.

Jefferson Tracy's hands tightened around the controls of Thunderbirds 3. The large red rocket was currently on a path to Wales, Great Britain, passing above the clouds so as to attract as little attention as possible.

Jeff hadn't wanted to take Thunderbird 3. Seeing as her rescue capabilities wouldn't be needed, it seemed a rather frivolous extravagance when any other ship would have served just as well in getting him to Cilybebyll in as short a time as possible. The only problem in taking Tracy One, or another craft, was that they always ran the risk of the ships being recognised, or of some enterprising soul checking their identity numbers and therefore making the inevitable connections between Jeff Tracy and International Rescue.

Jeff's companion glanced at his employer across the cockpit of the ship. "Are you o-o-ok-ok alright, Mr Tracy?" Brains asked quietly.

Jeff's jaw tensed for a moment and he stared resolutely at the ship's controls. Then he sighed and rubbed a hand across his face wearily. "Not really, Brains. To tell you the truth, I'm scared to death about what we're going to find when we reach the mine."

Admitting his fear was not something Jeff Tracy was accustomed to doing. However Brains, while not a personal confidante like Kyrano, was one of his closest friends and had probably known the answer to his question before he had even asked it. To a certain extent he could also understand how Jeff was feeling, seeing as his son Fermat was now a member of International Rescue and had, of course, been involved in that incident with the Hood. And so Jeff didn't feel the need to hide behind the strong persona he always affected when in a rescue situation. Here, with his friend of a good twenty years, there simply wasn't any need.

"I'm sure your s-s-so-son _boys_ are okay, Mr Tracy." Brains blinked owlishly at him from behind his large blue glasses. "They've been in worse s-si-sit-situ-situ _positions_ than this."

Jeff smiled wanly back at his engineer although in truth, he couldn't share Brain's assurances. While it was true that this was by no means the first time that something untoward had happened during a rescue – such as one of his sons becoming trapped or injured – Jeff was unable to recall a time when all of his experienced sons had become victims at the same time.

He couldn't help but worry – yet strangely enough, most of that worry concerned Alan, rather than his imprisoned sons.

Worrying about Alan wasn't a new pastime for Jeff. Since his youngest had been born, he'd been worrying about him, becoming frustrated with him and, when he was old enough, arguing with him. It was one of Jeff's biggest regrets that so much discord had marked his relationship with Alan and though things seemed to be settling down somewhat now that Alan was beginning to mature emotionally, the problems they had with each other were by no means solved.

Alan could be dangerously reckless sometimes and even now, Jeff questioned his decision to allow Alan to join International Rescue and start his training. One of the reasons he had finally allowed it was that Alan had four experienced brothers to guide and look after him on the missions he attended. The thought of his youngest, alone in the field and having the single-handedly orchestrate a complicated rescue was weighing heavily on his mind.

The simple fact was: Alan wasn't ready for that kind of responsibility. As much as Jeff loved his tearaway son, Alan's own actions proved this. Only last week he'd played an immature prank on Virgil which had landed his older brother in the infirmary with a sprained ankle; an injury that had prevented Virgil from participating in an important rescue. Alan had apologised profusely for it afterwards, but it still didn't excuse his thoughtlessness and blatant immaturity.

Jeff's one comfort was the fact that Alan wasn't _completely_ alone in his task. He had John to confer with and perhaps more importantly, he had Tin-Tin to help him. It would take a blind-man not to notice that Alan and Tin-Tin's relationship had been changing of late and although Jeff wasn't certain of its current status, he cautiously approved of where the two teenagers were heading. Tin-Tin was the calm to Alan's fiery passion. She was the anchor to his buoy. If anyone could keep his wild-child in check it was Tin-Tin Kyrano – and right now, Alan needed all the support he could get.

As if his thoughts had summoned her, Tin-Tin's voice sounded over the airwaves. "_Thunderbird 3 from Mobile Control._"

Jeff reached forward and accepted the connection. "Thunderbird 3 receiving. Go ahead Tin-Tin."

"_Alan's just reached the rear of the Firefly, sir_. _He's trying to clear the rocks around it in the hopes that Virgil can get it started again and follow the path Alan's cleared out of the mine._"

"What about Scott and Gordon? And the other miners?"

"_We haven't heard from Gordon or the miners, but that doesn't mean very much. Gordon's transmitter is showing on the console and we're tracking him._"

"And Scott?" Jeff prompted when the Malaysian girl paused.

"_Virgil … Virgil _was_in contact with him …_"

Jeff didn't miss her emphasis on 'was'. He tried not to think about what it meant. "So you've lost touch with Scott … is his transmitter still working?"

"_Yes, sir._ _In fact, Alan should reach him any moment._"

"That's good news. Tell him Brains and I will be with you shortly. Our ETA is twenty-five minutes."

"_FAB, sir_. _Mobile Control out_."

"S-sounds like Alan will have it all f-f-fin-fini _sorted_ by the time we g-get there, Mr Tracy," Brains remarked softly in the silence that followed Tin-Tin's farewell.

"I hope so," Jeff murmured, his thoughts turning once more to his youngest child.

* * *

The rear of the Firefly's shattered form emerged out of the darkness as Alan Tracy burrowed through the hard rock surrounding the craft. The state of the once proud machine was pitiful. The entire rear of the craft had been completely crushed; it was a miracle that Virgil had come through the experience relatively unscathed.

Alan halted the Mole's progress just shy of the Firefly, not wanting to cause any more damage to the rescue machine. "Virgil?" he called, trying his headset frequency.

There was the crackle of empty airwaves and then his brother's voice came back to him. "_Alan_?_Is that you_?" Virgil sounded surprised.

"One and the same."

"_Where are you?_"

"Right behind you."

Virgil's voice was awash with relief. "_I've never been so glad to see you, baby brother. Can you get me out of this tin can?"_

_I hope so,_ Alan thought as he sifted through the pile of tools he'd thrown into the back of the Mole in the hope that they'd be useful. _And I hope I put the damn laser cutters in here or we are _seriously _screwed… aha_! For the first time since the mine had collapsed, a genuine smile crossed as he brandished the tool. "Be there in a second, Virg."

"_Hurry._"

As soon as Alan climbed out of the Mole, the heat of the fire hit him. Even in its dying stages – there was no way it could continue to exist underground once all the oxygen had run out – it was still powerful enough to coat the blood on Alan's face with a sheen of sweat. He knew he would have to be careful when he touched the Firefly: the metal would be scorching.

As Alan inched forward around the wickedly sharp blades of the Mole, the firemen behind him erected another of their steel supports. One of their number broke away and hurried up to join Alan, tapping the younger man on the shoulder to get his attention.

"That's the last one," Rhys shouted over the noise his men were making. "Even if we had anymore, I wouldn't put them up. The fire's still too intense."

Which meant the Mole could go no further, or they would risk her bringing to whole mine down. Alan signalled his understanding and continued on towards the shattered Firefly, intent on rescuing his trapped brother in whatever way he could.

He tried not to think about what would happen if he couldn't get Virgil out of the Firefly. The thought only served to make him feel ill.

Alan held the handle of the laser cutter against the warm metal of the rescue vehicle and took a deep breath. "Virg – stand back."

"_Alan, what are you –_"

Before his brother could finish, Alan activated the laser cutter and began cutting a makeshift door through the durable metal. It was a difficult task; Brains hadn't designed International Rescue's crafts to be easily breakable and the alloys the vehicles were composed of were remarkably strong. Showers of sparks were thrown up and Alan blinked dazedly as the bright lights filled his vision. He stumbled slightly, feeling very light-headed, before a hand closed around his arm, both supporting him and helping to guide the laser cutter.

"Are you okay?" Rhys asked.

His concern irritated Alan and the youngest Tracy brushed it off. "I'm fine. It's the metal that's the problem. Stuff is _so_ – _bloody_ – _strong_ … Stand back!"

The glowing edges of the door gave way and Alan and Rhys scrambled backwards as the panel of metal fell outwards. It struck the floor of the mine with such force that the rocks around them trembled and for one horrible moment, Alan feared he'd started another rockslide.

But it seemed the mine had collapsed enough for one day, because the resulting tremors died away without incident. Alan breathed a sigh of relief before picking his way forward towards the large hole he'd created.

Once again Rhys's hand stopped him. "I'm going to have to order my men out," he informed Alan regretfully. "We don't have enough oxygen left in their tanks to remain down here much longer."

So Alan would soon be completely alone … he pushed the thought away. "Understood."

The fireman clasped hands with Alan. "Good luck."

"Thanks for your help."

Alan thought he saw Rhys smile inside his protective helmet and then the fireman was gone. Alan stared after him for a few long moments and then shook himself. He had to focus – he had to get back to the task at hand. Taking a deep breath, he turned back towards the hole.

* * *

When the figure appeared in the makeshift doorway and removed his helmet, Virgil Tracy almost didn't recognise his youngest brother.

Alan's unruly blond hair was plastered against his scalp – whether from sweat or wearing his helmet, Virgil didn't know. Beyond that his blue eyes stood out starkly against his too pale skin and something about them seem slightly off-focus. What really snared Virgil's attention however, was the amount of dried blood that clung to his brother's face.

"Alan – you're hurt!"

Alan didn't reply, drawing him into a tight embrace instead. Virgil was surprised by the action; even taking into account the high emotions of the moment, it was unusual for Alan to initiate such intimate contact. He was usually too worried about appearing weak in front of his siblings and therefore tended to remain a little distant from them.

Now however, he was clinging to Virgil as if he were the last sane thing in a world that had gone mad. Virgil could actually feel him trembling and wondered just what had happened to his little brother to reduce him to such a vulnerable state.

"I'm so glad you're okay," Alan murmured, his words muffled by Virgil's protective clothing.

"You and me both, squirt." Virgil drew back and eyed his brother carefully. He traced the trail of blood up to the wound on Alan's head. "Looks like you're worse off than me."

A flash of annoyance crossed Alan's face, then disappeared again. "I'm _fine_, Virg. Just banged my head a bit."

Virgil got the distinct impression that Alan wasn't telling him everything, but he also knew this wasn't the time or place to press the issue. Not when Scott and Gordon were still missing.

"Any word on Scott or Gordon?" He spoke his thoughts aloud.

Alan shook his head, a brief flicker of pain appearing over his features. "They're near though. We should … do you – do you think we should check with Tin-Tin for their positions?"

To Virgil this seemed like a fairly obvious step and he wondered why Alan was looking for his approval. Maybe he was trying to hand over control of the rescue to Virgil – but Virgil wasn't playing. This was an important learning curve for Alan and if he tried to shirk his responsibilities every time he was handed them, he'd never become a reliable member of International Rescue.

"Go ahead." Virgil gave his brother a gentle push towards the broken console and after a few seconds when it seemed he might protest, Alan did as he was told.

"Mechanics 101, huh?" Alan commented as his eyes swept over the console.

"I'm never going to moan about those lessons again," Virgil agreed with a slight smile, but Alan was too busy looking out at the dark sea of rock surrounding them to notice.

"Scott's position is to the right of the Firefly … " Alan said slowly, closing his eyes briefly and running a hand over his face. When he opened them again, he turned towards his brother. "But how are we going to get through all this rock without the Mole?"

It was something Virgil had been thinking about while he had been trapped inside the Firefly. He had conceived of and discarded various plans as being too dangerous, not feasible or impossible because of a lack of equipment. The easiest way of breaking through the rock would of course be the use of explosives, but with the threat of another collapse always imminent, Virgil didn't want to risk it. The last thing he wanted to do was to kill his brothers while trying to rescue them.

And of course, there was still the lingering fire to contend with.

"I think this is one time where technology isn't going to have a place," he said slowly, his eyes picking out the distant lights of the Mole. "We're going to have to do things the old fashioned way."

* * *

The lack of clean air was obviously getting to him, Gordon Tracy decided, because he was beginning to hear voices.

He'd long since lost any remaining feelings in his good hand and the rock had become so slippery with his own blood that his effort to break through the impassable wall of rock was floundering.

It was when he had dropped the rock for the fiftieth time that the voices had started. Faint at first, they had grown stronger as he had reapplied his efforts to the barrier of rock, and stronger still as his hole had grown into a shallow cave.

Yes – it was definitely the lack of oxygen. The comforting hiss from his cylinder had long ceased to be heard and Gordon could feel himself becoming sleepy. The rock slipped from his hand once more but this time he made no effort to pick it up again. Instead he stared dully at the fissure in the rock that he had created and decided it would be a good place for him to catch his breath for a few moments.

He crawled forward and rested his forehead against the warm stone, curling the rest of his body in on himself. As he did so, another of the voices permeated his mind, interrupting his peace.

" … no use. No one can hear us."

"We can't just give up! We have to keep trying!"

"What's the point, Cain? We're not going to get out of here – just accept it."

"I am _not_ going to just lie down and die!"

The words reverberated around Gordon's head.

_I am _not _going to just lie down and die!_

_Lie down and die!_

_Lie down and die …_

It was like someone had turned the lights on inside of Gordon's mind. In a flash he sat up, just avoiding banging his injured arm against the rock, and stared at the wall in front of him. The voices weren't in his mind … they were on the other side of the wall!

"Cain, we're trapped in the depths of a mine in the middle of the Welsh Moors. Who the hell's going to rescue us?"

"The emergency services! The firemen! The Search and Rescue teams!"

Gordon pressed his ear against the wall eagerly, drinking in the conversation now that he was certain it wasn't just all in his mind. These must be two of the miners, he realised, though how they had managed to survive not only being trapped by the fire but also the collapse of a significant portion of the mine, he couldn't imagine. Nor did he care; the fact that he was no longer alone buoyed his spirits and he found himself grinning manically.

He lifted his helmet off, trying to ignore how his lungs were starting to burn from lack of oxygen. "Hello?"

The conversation on the other side of the wall faltered.

"Can you hear me?" Gordon tried again.

This time there was a cautious reply. "Who's there?"

"I'm a member of International Rescue," Gordon explained as succinctly as he could. "We were sent in to rescue you but the mine collapsed before we could finish."

There was a gasp. "International Rescue? See – I _told_ you we'd be rescued!"

The other voice snorted. "Not much of a rescue. Besides, how do we know he's telling the truth?"

The question was absurd. "Why would I lie?" Gordon demanded incredulously.

There was a brief pause. "Alright, tell us what you know," the gruff voice ordered.

Gordon, while not possessed of Alan's fiery temper, still didn't like being ordered around by uppity miners he'd was risking his life in an attempt to save. If the situation hadn't been so dire he would have made some smart-ass comment; instead he bit his tongue and assumed a professional persona.

"Four members of International Rescue entered the mine. We managed to rescue four of the miners but as we were returning for the others, parts of the mine collapsed. My communicators were knocked out, so beyond that, I don't know what's going on."

"The other miners … the other miners are dead," the first voice told him shakily. "We were the only two to escape the rocks."

"For all the good it did us."

Gordon shivered, thinking how close both he and these men still were to death. "I'm sorry about your friends." His words sounded hollow, weak but Gordon couldn't think of anything else to say. His normally eloquence had deserted him along with his precious supply of oxygen.

"So are we," the second voice growled into the silence.

"They were good men," the first voice whispered, his words barely audible.

_They always are,_ Gordon thought bleakly, clawing at the wall in an attempt to make his hole even larger, and hopefully break through to where the two miners were trapped.

As he continued digging with his good hand, Gordon struggled to pull his hazy thoughts into some semblance of order. It was difficult; he was beginning to feel light-headed and his head kept telling him it would be a good idea to close his eyes and rest for a moment. It was only the thought of what his brothers would say if he gave up fighting that kept his hand scratching away at the unforgiving rock-face and his eyes firmly open.

His brothers … Scott, Virgil and Alan. Not knowing what had happened to them was agonising. For all Gordon knew, they could all have been killed in the collapse – although something inside of him told him that wasn't the case. After all, this wasn't the first time his family had been caught up in one of their rescues and besides: his brothers were fighters.

Scott – there was no way he would just roll over and die. No, he'd fight the darkness with every breath in his body, while still somehow finding the time and energy to worry about everyone else's fates. And Virgil, while he was quieter than his other earth-bound brothers, there was no mistaking that he had a will of steel. And as for Alan … well, Alan was simply too annoying to die. The little brat was going to haunt Gordon until they were both old and grey and he wasn't likely to let one cave-in stop him.

"Right," he muttered, mind made up. He was _not_ going to die in this god-forsaken hellhole – and he was not going to let the two remaining miners die either. Unfortunately, despite it being the right thing to do, it meant he had to keep moving, keep his eyes open and more importantly: stay awake.

"Right," Gordon said again, more forcefully this time. "Here's what we're going to do. If you guys can help me make this hole big enough to crawl through then I can return the favour by getting you out of this damn mine."

"Why can't _we _join _you_?" the gravelly voice objected. "You're closer to the mine entrance."

Gordon didn't ask how the miner knew this; he didn't have time for a debate. "Maybe, but I'm also about to run out of air. Whereas you must have struck lucky with some kind of natural vent otherwise you'd've suffocated already."

"There _is_ air coming in from somewhere," the gruff one admitted grudgingly.

"Good. Means we've got a chance."

"I think we've got something else that will help," the first miner spoke up suddenly.

Gordon paused. "What's that?"

There was the sound of something sharp hitting stone and the wall in front of Gordon trembled.

"A pickaxe!"

For the first time since the mine had collapsed, Gordon found himself grinning.

* * *

When the fire-fighters came hurrying back out of the mine, Tin-Tin felt sure that something had gone horridly wrong. Then she realised that they weren't fleeing from danger, rather they had simply finished their job in the mine.

Rhys Evans made a beeline for her. "The supports are all up," he reported, running a hand through his sweat-darkened hair. "And your man has reached the rear of your fire extinguishing vehicle."

_My man? _Tin-Tin thought frantically, staring at Rhys. _Is he talking about Alan? How does he know? _I'm_not even sure! How could this guy possibly – _oh. _Oh, he just means a member of International Rescue … _Tin-Tin's cheeks flushed darkly and she hoped Rhys wouldn't notice.

"I'll just check on their progress," she said quickly, to hide her embarrassment. She leaned forward and patched a connection through to the Firefly, hoping they were still in the vicinity.

"Mobile Control to Firefly. Come in Firefly."

She paused, waiting, and then tried again.

"Firefly from Mobile Control. Alan, Virgil, do you read me?"

There was a loud buzzing sound and then, "_Loud and clear, Tin-Tin._"

"Virgil!" Relief swept through Tin-Tin. "Are you okay?"

"_A little scorched around the edges, but I'll be fine._"

"Is Alan with you?"

"_He's trying to get through to Scott as we speak._"

"Any luck?"

"_Not yet. We're having to do things the hard way so it's taking longer but – oh, hold on a second._"

There was big cracking sound and then the line went silent for a few moments. Tin-Tin and Rhys exchanged worried glances.

"Virgil? Virgil do you read me?"

Virgil's voice came back suddenly. "_Sorry Tin-Tin, Alan just broke through the wall. I think we've reached Scott._ _Hold on –_"

"Virgil?"

"_Be careful of the rubble. Here – take this –_"

There was a muffled reply in the background.

"_Can you see him?_"

"_No …_" The second voice was Alan's, it sounded tinny and thin and Tin-Tin realised she was hearing it through Virgil's headset and _then _via the Firefly's communications system. "_Wait – yes! Yes, he's here!_"

"_Okay, see if you can get him out –_"

Tin-Tin chewed nervously on her lip. She hated feeling so helpless.

"_Steady Alan, steady._"

There was a muffled reply in the background and then silence.

"Virgil?" Tin-Tin frowned at Mobile Control.

"_Alan?_" Virgil echoed her question.

When Alan's voice finally came back to them both, it was tight with panic. "_Oh God, Virgil – he's not breathing!_"


	6. Chapter Six: Back to Basics

**Chapter Six: Back to Basics**

Considering all the technologically advanced equipment that International Rescue had access to, it felt very strange to be using a twentieth century electric drill to break through the wall of rock.

Stowed in the rear of the Mole sometime in the forgotten past, the drill appeared something of an antique to Alan's eyes and when Virgil had pulled it out of the vehicle he had wondered whether being trapped in the dark for so long was starting to get to his brother. The drill belonged in a museum - not on a rescue with the Thunderbirds.

Ten minutes later and Alan was eating his words with a healthy dose of ketchup on top of them. The archaic drill was cutting through the rock like a knife through butter - albeit a knife with a great deal of force behind it. Alan's head was throbbing in time with the surging power of the machine but he refused to back down. Somewhere on the other side of the implacable stone wall, his oldest brother had fallen worryingly silent. Giving up simply wasn't an option.

As he worked, Virgil ducked back inside the broken shell of the Firefly. At first Alan thought he was simply avoiding the sharp backlash of slivers of rock but then he heard murmured voices of conversation in his headset; a light question and Virgil's deeper reply.

Alan listened distractedly as the drill continued to pummel the rock. Suddenly he felt a change in the rock in front of him and he paused. "Virgil ...!"

With a groan that shook the very foundations of the mine around him, the wall Alan had been attacking collapsed inwards. He switched the drill off quickly and held himself very still as the rumbles died away and only the light tinkling of smaller rocks and pebbles slipping through the cracks between the larger rocks could be heard.

"_Great work, Alan_!" Virgil's voice came through Alan's headset as his brother stuck his head out of the Firefly to see what had happened.

Alan grinned appreciatively and after leaning the drill against the side of the Firefly, he started towards the hole.

"_Be careful of the rubble_," Virgil warned, ducking back inside the vehicle and emerging with something clasped in his right hand. "_Here - take this_." Virgil handed him a flashlight, which Alan quickly activated.

"Thanks." Alan picked his way back towards the entrance of the new area, and swung the torch beam about inside, eyes straining.

"_Can you see him_?"

"No …" Alan continued to swing the beam about the small space, carefully covering every inch of it. However much he wanted to hurry, this wasn't the time for mistakes.

Suddenly the light hit something out of place in the forbidding darkness of the cave. "Wait – yes! Yes, he's here!"

"_Okay, see if you can get him out_ –"

Alan didn't even wait for Virgil to finish; he ducked through the gap in the rock and was enveloped by the darkness.

It was disorientating at first. Alan blinked as his eyes adjusted to the gloom and then he swung the torch back around until it was centred on the fallen figure he'd spotted from the entrance. Taking a deep breath, Alan started moving carefully across the floor, determined not to disturb any more of the life-threatening rock. The beam danced in front of his eyes, buoyed by his movement and the darkness of the rocks felt oppressive. His vision began to narrow and as his head gave a particularly vicious pound, Alan stumbled, the torch falling from his grip.

"_Steady, Alan, steady_," Virgil cautioned.

"I'm okay," Alan replied quickly, raising a trembling hand to touch the back of his head. The bleeding appeared to have stopped but the wound was still sore. Combined with the claustrophobic darkness and it was enough to make anyone feel ill. "I just tripped."

Before Virgil could object, Alan continued across the uneven floor and crouched down beside Scott's motionless form.

"Scott ..." he whispered, as he played the flashlight's beam across his brother's body in an attempt to access Scott's injuries.

Even though Virgil had warned him what to expect, it was worse than he could have imagined.

A huge chunk of rock was lying across Scott's lower body, pinning his legs beneath it. Above that his upper body was twisted around so that his cheek was resting against the hard stone floor, his hands resting limply beside him.

A sick feeling worked its way up from Alan's stomach, filling his mouth with bile. He'd seen people injured before - had had his fair share of knocks, scrapes and broken bones - and he knew this was serious.

Scott was worryingly still.

"_Alan?_" Virgil's voice sounded in his headset, but it was smothered by the sense of urgency that was rising up inside of Alan. Scott's condition was bad - it was _really _bad. Alan fumbled with his gloves, ripping them off his hands with shaking fingers before feeling for a pulse in Scott's cool wrist.

It was weak and thready; Alan could barely feel it. And to make matters even worse, as Alan leant again Scott's chest, tracking his heartbeat, he realised something else.

"Oh God, Virgil – he's not breathing!"

* * *

Virgil Tracy stared at the Firefly's damaged communications array as his little brother's words echoed around his mind. Suddenly this was no longer simply a rescue of faceless people – suddenly this was personal. And for it to be Scott ... Virgil shook his head furiously.

The voices coming through the commlink and his headset hadn't ceased and they were both tinged with a similar level of controlled panic.

"_Virgil, what's going on?_" That was Tin-Tin - still somehow managing to maintain a level voice despite her obvious concern.

"_Scott? Please, Scotty, just open your eyes!_" That was Alan - and he sounded frantic.

Virgil didn't even have to think about who needed his attention most. "I'm sorry Tin-Tin, I'll have to get back to you." He turned and clamoured out of the blackened hull of what had once been the Firefly, snatching up a spare flashlight as he did so.

Quickly yet carefully, he followed Alan's route across the rubble-strewn floor. As he slipped inside he caught sight of his brothers; Alan had put his flashlight down on the floor and was bending over Scott. The light from the torch gave them an almost luminous appearance.

Virgil pushed his emotions aside and tried to concentrate on the mission. "Alan? What's his condition?" He was straining to remember what Scott himself had told him earlier.

"_His legs - his legs are trapped under a piece of rock _..." Alan took a deep breath and when he spoke again, his voice was somewhat more controlled. "_I can't find a pulse and he's not breathing on his own_._I'm starting CPR._"

Despite the severity of the situation, Virgil couldn't help being impressed by how Alan had managed to pull himself together. In the past he wouldn't have had a clue what to do and he probably would have completely panicked. Now however, Alan quickly pulled both his and his brother's helmets off before leaning over Scott. Positioning his hands carefully he alternated between pushing down on Scott's chest and breathing into his mouth.

"Any change?" Virgil asked anxiously as he hurried towards them.

Alan shook his head, gulping in a breath of his oxygen tank before transferring that clean air into Scott. He repeated the motion several more times while Virgil was forced to watch helplessly as his baby brother fought to save the life of the eldest Tracy son.

After what seemed like several hours but was probably only a few minutes, Alan's hands stilled on Scott's chest. He pressed his ear against Scott's open mouth and then snapped upright.

"_He's breathing again_!" Alan shouted gleefully, his voice trailing off into coughing as what little dirty air there was left in the cave infected his lungs. Virgil quickly handed him his helmet and his younger brother tugged it back on again.

"He needs oxygen –" Virgil started to say, but before he could finish his sentence, Alan had risen and scrambled out of sight. He returned moments later with an oxygen mask and fresh cylinder in his hands.

"_I put a couple of spare ones in the Mole,_" Alan explained, as if sensing Virgil's surprise.

Virgil took the mask and slipped it carefully over Scott's head as Alan checked the connection between mask and cylinder. Once the mask was safely in place, Alan turned the oxygen tank on and both brothers pulled back, waiting.

Scott's chest continued to rise and fall gently. It was the most wonderful sight Virgil had ever seen and he felt like cheering. Instead he wrapped an arm around his little brother's shoulders. "Great work, Al. You saved his life."

Alan blew out an explosive sigh of relief, but didn't say anything. There was no need for words.

* * *

Gordon Tracy decided he liked pickaxes. There was something very rewarding about hacking wildly at the rock walls that had threatened to choke him to death.

Of course, _he_ wasn't doing the hacking. With a dislocated shoulder it would have been like poking curiously at a gaping wound and that wasn't something Gordon was particularly interested in trying.

There was also the fact that out of the three of them, he was the least qualified to be swinging a pickaxe around. The slender Cain had been working in the mine for over ten years and the short, stocky – not to mention decidedly grumpy – Alwyn had been working as a miner for over twenty. Both had the weathered skin and bulky muscles of hard labourers and their faces were streaked with soot, dust and now a certain amount of sweat.

While they used their axes to attack the wall, Gordon worked at clearing the debris as best he could. At least his arm wasn't hurting so much now; the miners had helped him to fashion a crude sling to immobilise his shoulder and he could actually move his fingers without his arm feeling like it was going to drop off.

So far they'd broken through a surprising amount of rock. Though he knew it was slightly amusing, Gordon couldn't help admiring Cain and Alwyn's skill with their pickaxes. Despite the severity of the situation they were working in perfect tandem with one another. When one stepped forward to strike the wall, the other waited behind to fill his position once the blow fell. In this was they were able to conserve their strength and work for longer periods of time – Gordon supposed it was something they'd perfected in their years down the mine.

And those were years that he was damn well appreciative of now. Of all the people Gordon would choose to be trapped in a mine with, a pair of miners would forever be top of his list. For one thing, their knowledge of the mine's layout, even with all the changes the cave-in had caused, was just freaky. Without them Gordon would have been completely lost and would probably have dug himself in completely the wrong direction.

Of course, he might not have chosen _these_ particular miners …

Alwyn had barely said two words to him – but both of those words had been hostile and grudging. Cain on the other hand, had hardly shut his mouth. Now Gordon could respect a clever tongue but rather than being amusing, Cain's endless questions about him, life in general, and International Rescue specifically, were making him wish for the solitude of his little rock prison.

"… Must be _so _exciting, flying out on all these missions in those cool ships – what are they like inside? I bet they're all completely high-tech, with loads of buttons and knobs …"

Talking incessantly was probably Cain's way of coping. The loss of his colleagues, the ever-present threat of death … it was enough to make even Gordon blanch and he'd at least experienced similar things before.

_Best not to think about it,_ Gordon told himself firmly. _Focus on the digging_._And if Cain wants to talk ... he's not doing any harm. Let him talk._

* * *

Now that they had stabilised Scott's condition, Virgil allowed himself to believe that they just might all be able to get out of the mine alive.

Perhaps it was a foolish hope – particularly with Gordon still unaccounted for – but the fact that Scott was no longer in immediate danger filled Virgil with such potent relief that he felt that anything was possible.

He sat quietly besides his brother as he waited for Alan to retrieve some more equipment from the Mole. Scott was so still; he looked almost like he was sleeping. His dark hair was scattered across his face with wild abandon and Virgil carefully brushed it back as his eyes scanned those familiar features.

Scott Tracy. His big brother … and his best friend. Virgil didn't know what he would have done if they had lost Scott. To lose any of his brothers was unthinkable, but somehow, with Scott the idea was even worse. He was always the strong one, their Commander, the last man standing. To lose him ... well, it had always been a risk of International Rescue – would always continue to be one – but they'd never come quite so close to utter disaster before.

Not that Scott was completely out of danger; he wasn't by a long shot. There was still the problem of his legs to deal with, and the huge chunk of rock that was pinning them down.

Reluctantly, Virgil abandoned his position by Scott's head and moved down to where his legs were pinned. Here he found some long-awaited good news. Although it was true that Scott's legs were trapped beneath the slab of stone, the rock had fallen in such a way that it imprisoned, rather than crushed, his legs. From his cursory examination Virgil couldn't tell if Scott had avoided breaking any bones but at least this meant he and Alan could probably move the rock away without doing any permanent damage to their brother.

Heavy footsteps announced Alan's return and Virgil looked up in time to see his little brother clamouring back through the gap he'd created, pulling a backboard with him. He rose to help Alan and together they lay the board down alongside Scott.

"_We've got a backboard, a neckbrace, an IV line and as much morphine as I could grab_," Alan told him. "_Oh, and I contacted Tin-Tin too. Let her know what was happening. She's going to have the paramedics waiting at the mine entrance. How's Scott_?"

Virgil blessed his baby brother's initiative, thinking once again how mature and responsible Alan was becoming in such a time of crisis. Forward thinking had never been one of Alan's strong points, but when it mattered he had anticipated Scott's needs exactly. Looking up at him Virgil wondered at how once again he'd fallen into the family trap of underestimating Alan Tracy.

"Scott's the same," Virgil replied. "Good news is his legs seem to be the only injury and they're trapped rather than crushed."

"_So do we move him now_?"

"I need to get the IV in place first. And I'd probably better give him some morphine too. We don't want him waking up and screaming the whole place down." Virgil pulled the sleeve of Scott's protective suit up and sought a vein in his brother's arm.

Beside him, Alan looked up at the makeshift ceiling of Scott's little prison. "_I don't think it would even take screaming. This place looks pretty precarious, Virg_."

Virgil was intent on securing the IV and didn't reply. He was aware of Alan standing up and moving out of his line of sight but his older brother's medical needs were currently more pressing than his youngest brother's worry.

He slung the IV bag over his shoulder in an effort to keep it elevated and then turned his attention to the morphine. It was the work of moments to inject the dosage into his brother; basic first aid was something Virgil had had a lot of practice at in his years with International Rescue.

Behind him Alan's feet crunched against the loose rock on the floor as he moved about the small space. Virgil adjusted the position of the IV bag and then turned his attention to the rocks lying across Scott's legs.

"Alan, I could do with a hand over here."

His little brother didn't reply.

"Alan?" Virgil called again, twisting around to see that Alan was standing several feet away. Alan's back was to him and his hand was pressed against one of the rock faces.

Virgil frowned. "Alan –"

"_The rock …_" The words came slowly to Virgil's ears and he noticed that Alan's voice sounded strange.

"What about the rock?"

" … _It's really warm …_"

"Alan?" Virgil didn't like the uncertain note in Alan's voice. His little brother had never sounded like that before.

There was a pause and then Alan visibly shook himself. When he spoke again, his voice was much stronger. "_Virg, I think the fire's near. The rocks are almost burning_!"

Virgil swore viciously. "That's the last thing we need right now. Hasn't the damn thing been deprived of oxygen for long enough yet?"

"_Apparently not_," Alan replied dryly, stepping back towards Virgil and keeping one hand on the wall at all times as he did so. "_We moving Scott now_?"

"Yeah. If the fire's nearby it could collapse another part of the mine." Virgil edged around the bottom of the rock on Scott's legs, allowing Alan to take his previous position on the other side. "We've gotta get this off first. I don't know how heavy it is so be prepared to lift."

"_FAB_."

Together, he and Alan slipped their arms beneath the rock and obtained as good a grip as they could. "Just try and slide it off without it touching Scott's legs. On three. One, two, _three_!"

With a wrench Virgil and Alan threw their weight at the stone. It shifted a couple of inches until it was balancing precariously above Scott's vulnerable legs.

"Again!" Virgil cried. "One … two … _three_!"

This time they heaved the rock clear. It clattered to the ground, breaking up into a number of smaller pieces that pelted Virgil. He ignored them, intent upon Scott's legs. The material of his International Rescue uniform was ripped in several places and there was definitely a certain amount of blood. Virgil hands probed gently beneath the debris and as he had suspected, they found a significant amount of swelling in Scott's right shin, which strongly suggested he'd either fractured or broken the bone. His left leg wasn't in much better condition; it was more torn up than the right, although the injuries seemed to be more superficial than anything else. Even to Virgil's untrained eye it seemed that Scott was going to end up on crutches for a fair few weeks.

Still, he knew his brother would willingly pay the price for still being alive.

"Right, let's get him onto the backboard. I'll lift his legs, you drag him across. Be careful of his head and neck. I don't think he's got a back injury but we don't want to risk it."

Alan moved around to Scott's head, but before he prepared to lift his brother, he paused, looking back at Virgil. "_Wait, don't you want to give him some morphine before we move him_?"

Virgil stared at him. "I _did_ give him some. A few minutes ago. You watched me do it, Al."

Alan was still for a moment. After a pause he said hurriedly, "_Oh, yeah – you're right. I remember now. Sorry_."

Virgil eyes flickered over Alan's face, hidden inside his helmet. "Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

"_Virgil, I'm fine. It's Scott you should be worrying about. And the nice char-grilled look we're gonna acquire if we don't get out of here fast!_"

The kid had a point; one that Virgil couldn't deny. So instead of quizzing Alan further about his health, Virgil turned back to the more pressing matter at hand: their older brother.

"On three then. One – two – _three_!"

Virgil lifted Scott's legs carefully, trying his hardest not to disturb the broken bone or any of the multiple abrasions. At the same time Alan grabbed hold of Scott's upper body and dragged it across onto the backboard. Once his torso was firmly in place, Virgil lowered Scott's legs gently onto the board and set about securing the straps around his brother, all the while trying not to cause him any more discomfort. "Done," he said once the last strap was in place.

"_Give me a sec._" Alan lifted Scott's head and slid the neckbrace into position, fastening the straps across his brother's forehead. It was only a precaution but one that neither Virgil nor Alan was willing to forego. "_Right, neckbrace is on. We're good to go._"

"Right." Virgil checked that that bag of IV fluid was still slung over his shoulder and then turned back to Scott. "Let's get him out of here."

"_FAB_."


	7. Chapter Seven: Voices in the Dark

**Chapter Seven: Voices in the Dark**

"Wait a minute."

"What?"

"What is it?"

"I thought I heard something …"

"We've got more important things to do with our time than entertain your delusions. Unless you _want _to die in here?"

"Of course not, I just – "

"What did you hear?"

"I thought I heard voices."

" … In your head …"

"Voices? Someone could be coming to rescue us!"

"I thought that was _his _job."

"It could be one of the other members of my team –"

"A rescue! We're going to be rescued!"

"Hold on, I don't know if –"

"We're saved! Thank God!"

"Now look what you've done!"

"Me? If you would just stop hacking at the wall for a moment then I'd be able to tell if I really _did _hear something!"

A fractured silence fell, hung in the air between them for a few moments and then was shattered once more.

"There's nothing there. I _knew_ you were imagining it."

"I didn't _imagine_ anything! I heard –"

"Maybe we should try shouting for help."

" – You heard _nothing._ Now can I get back to my digging?"

"Look, I really think we should – "

"Hello? _Hello_? Can anyone hear us? We're trapped in a mine! Hello?"

"Oh for God's sake Cain, no one's going to come!"

"If you'd both just be quiet for a moment –"

"_Hello_? Calling International Rescue! Mayday, _mayday_!"

"Mayday? Where are we, stuck aboard a diving plane?"

"_Mayday_!"

"If you'd put half as much effort into breaking down this wall as you do talking then we'd be free by now!"

"Both of you, _shut UP_!"

The angry words fell away, the pickaxes paused and the resulting silence was so absolute that it was deafening. The two miners stared at their companion: Cain in shock and Alwyn in rapidly growing anger. Gordon Tracy stared back at them, almost as surprised as they were that he had lost his temper. Of all his family, he was the slowest to anger and his endless supplies of good humour were legendary. It took a lot to make Gordon loose his composure, even in such high-risk, dangerous situations as the Thunderbirds were often placed in. After all, professionalism was something of an art form to the denizens of Tracy Island.

What might have happened next – Cain losing it completely, Alwyn strangling Gordon or the beginning of their own private World War III – was put on hold when the unmistakably sound of a new voice reached all three of their ears.

" – careful!"

It was just one word – and a rather garbled one at that – but Gordon would have recognised the voice anywhere. Wrenching his obsolete helmet off, he took as deep a breath as he could manage and yelled, "_Virgil_!"

"Virgil?" Gordon heard Alwyn muttered but he ignored the miner, intent on the miracle that was the sound of his older brother's voice.

There was such a long pause that Gordon began to wonder if him hearing Virgil's voice was more wishful thinking than actual fact. Then, gloriously, a second voice joined the first.

"Gordon?"

It was Alan – and Gordon knew he hadn't imagined it this time. Alan, his baby brother, was somewhere on the other side of the implacable rock wall and more importantly, he was alive.

"Gordon? Gordon is that you? Can you hear me?"

Gordon laughed aloud as Virgil and Alan's voices melted together into the most wonderful cacophony of noise that he had ever heard.

Behind him, Alwyn took a step forward, brandishing his pickaxe threateningly. "What the hell is going on?"

Gordon grinned at him, his good humour completely restored and the confused expression on the grumpy miner's face cheering him further. "It seems, my dear Alywn, that Cain's predication has come true. Meet the other members of International Rescue!"

* * *

When Alan Tracy heard Gordon's voice through the wall, his first thought was that he had gone completely insane. It must be a combination of the pain in his head and _way_ too much exposure to the cloying darkness of the mine, Alan decided; he was starting to hallucinate.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to entertain his delusions for a moment or two. With Virgil ducking back inside the Firefly and Scott resting quietly on the ground beside the machine, there was little else to occupy Alan's time.

"Gordon?"

Unfortunately, Virgil heard him. His older brother stuck his head back out of the ruined machine and even in the gloom of the torchlight Alan could see the frown on his face. "Gordon?" Virgil echoed in confusion, at the same as Alan called again, "Gordon, is that you? Can you hear me?"

Alan's head throbbed in time to his shouted words and he suddenly felt very light-headed. He carefully braced himself against the blackened hull of the Firefly and attempted to moderate his breathing. Virgil looked at him in alarm but before he could ask any awkward questions, Gordon's voice came souring back through the wall.

"It seems, my dear Alywn, that Cain's predication has come true. Meet the other members of International Rescue!"

The words made little sense to Alan's fogged mind but knowing that Gordon was alive was enough. By virtue of their ages and statuses as the babies of the Tracy family, he and Gordon had always been close. Personality-wise they were as different as chalk and cheese but off all his brothers, Gordon understood most what it was like growing up underneath the shadow of numerous impressive siblings and a father who was revered as a national hero. Losing Gordon would have been almost like losing a part of himself and Alan couldn't put into words how relieved he was to find that somehow, Gordon had managed to survive the mine collapse … and apparently picked up some companions along the way.

"Gordon, whereabouts are you?" Virgil called, looking around the area of the mine that was visible beyond the Firefly.

"I'm behind a big chunk of rock," came the humorous reply. "Take your pick."

"Very funny. Keep talking, I'm trying to pinpoint your location."

_That shouldn't be a problem for Gordon_, Alan thought, taking another controlled breath as his vision righted itself and the nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach began to fade. When he was feeling confident enough, he pushed away from the Firefly and moved to join Virgil, who was running his hands carefully over the sharp rock face.

"Who's with you?" Alan asked curiously.

"Cain and Alwyn – two of the miners we came down here to rescue."

Alan didn't need to ask where the other miners were; he could read it in what Gordon wasn't saying. A pang of guilt struck him. It was never easy to lose those that they had come to rescue and Alan couldn't help feeling partly responsible, even though he knew none of them could have predicted that the mine would collapse.

"Are you _really_ International Rescue?"

Despite the severity of the situation, Alan grinned. "Either that or we're _really_ unlucky sight-seers."

"Quiet," Virgil ordered tersely, pressing his face as close to the rock wall as he could manage. "Gordon, can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear." Gordon's voice came back strongly. "Ready to start hacking down this wall on your command, Boss."

"Just give us a moment to step back … okay, go ahead."

The dim sounds of metal striking stone reached their ears and the wall that blocked Gordon and the miners' exits began to tremble ominously. Alan glanced hesitantly up at the metal supports that the local firemen had left behind and hoped they would be able to cope under the pressure. The last thing they needed was yet another part of the mine to collapse.

As Gordon and the miners worked to free themselves, Alan and Virgil returned to where Scott was lying.

As Alan bent down to lift Scott up again, Virgil put out a hand. "Wait."

Alan looked up at his brother. "What's up?"

Virgil glanced back over his shoulder at the blackened wreck of the Firefly and beyond that, the hulking monolith that was the Mole. "The machines," he explained. "We can't just leave them down here."

Alan stared at the Mole. Virgil was right. While International Rescue would _always _value the lives on its members above that of its machines, if there was any chance of saving the pod vehicles then they needed to do so. There was no telling when the next call would come in that would need to Mole's drill or the Firefly's fire-extinguishing capabilities.

Alan sat back on his heels. "Okay. Then you guys get out of here and I'll follow you out, towing the Firefly with the Mole."

Virgil shook his head before bending forward to check that the straps securing Scott to the backboard were fastened correctly. Alan frowned at him. "Why not?"

"Because you haven't been looking well and I'm worried –"

"Virg, I'm _fine_." Alan stressed the word, wondering at his brother's concern. Sure, his head was hurting and he felt a bit nauseous, but then he _had_ whacked his head pretty hard on the ground, so it was only to be expected. "I can do this."

"Alan –"

"No, listen. Out of the two of us, who's got the most oxygen left? Me. And whose suit is in a better condition? Me." Virgil made as if to interrupt but Alan spoke over him. "And who can be of more help to Scott? _You_. Virg, it makes sense for me to be the one to take the Mole and you know it."

Before Virgil could reply, the offending wall that Gordon and his mining companions had been attacking gave way in a terrific rumble of rock. The whole mine shook; loose fragments of stone rained down on Virgil and Alan from the ceiling and they looked at one another in alarm. Alan wondered if his earlier thoughts about a second mine-collapse had been rather more prophetic than he had wanted.

In the next instant the rumblings subsided and Alan blew out an explosive sigh of relief. From the slender gap between the wickedly sharp front of the Mole and the shattered rear of the Firefly emerged a trio of dark figures, the front one of which quickly coalesced into the familiar dust-covered figure of Gordon Tracy.

A plethora of emotions swept through Alan as he and Virgil rose to greet the newcomers. "What happened?" he asked as Gordon gave him a one-armed hug and then pulled back quickly with a grimace.

"I was unlucky. Got my shoulder caught when the mine collapsed." Gordon grinned, his white teeth showing up brightly in the gloom of the mine. He coughed before continuing, the dying air of the mine closing his throat and making it difficult to talk. "Not like you two slackers. Honestly, not a scratch on you!"

Alan thought about the bump on his head but didn't say anything.

Virgil took over the thread of the conversation, introducing himself and Alan to Alwyn and Cain, and breaking the news about Scott as gently as he could to Gordon.

"He's going to be okay," Virgil assured his younger brother when Gordon's pale face turned even whiter under the layer of dirt, "but we've got to get him out of here now."

While Virgil explained the situation, Alan ducked back inside the Mole and retrieved the two smaller oxygen canisters that had had thrown in before entering the mine. Unlike the one they had given to Scott, these would only last for ten or so minutes – twenty at best. It meant they would have to move quickly.

"Here." He thrust them at Virgil and turned to head back in the direction of the Mole.

His brother reached out and caught his shoulder. "Alan, wait."

Alan looked back at Virgil with irritation. "I can do this, Virg."

Virgil looked resigned. "I know you can. Just –" He hesitated. "Just be careful, okay? We don't want any more surprises."

Although his brother's concern was unwarranted, Alan fixed an agreeable expression on his face. "FAB," he agreed. "See you on the other side."

* * *

_They still haven't come back out … why haven't they come back out? What's happening? What if … what if something's gone wrong? Oh, why hasn't _he_come back out?_

The jumbled thoughts spun repetitively through Tin-Tin Kyrano's mind as she chewed restlessly on a fingernail that had already given all the nail it had to give. Though she was standing behind Mobile Control, her eyes were trained unerringly on the entrance of the mine and her heart was quite literally in her mouth.

It didn't matter that Alan had contacted her to report that he'd located both Virgil and Scott. While she was certainly relieved that Virgil was okay, and Scott's injuries weren't life threatening, the fact was they were still somewhere inside the mine.

The mine that could collapse at any moment.

Tin-Tin wasn't the only one that was feeling the pressure of the constant waiting. An unnatural hush had fallen over the area outside of the mine. The previously lively crowd of spectators and news anchors were tense and subdued, their eyes fixed on the mine. The few miners that had been rescued earlier in the day had already been dispatched to the local hospital and the remaining paramedics were grouped about the entrance of the mine, awaiting the injured members of the party still inside. Of everyone in the area, they and the firemen looked the least unsettled by the hellish waiting game but that was probably to be expected. After all, even out here in the middle of the Welsh wilderness they must have had situations like this mine-collapse before.

In the face of their cool professionalism, Tin-Tin felt herself beginning to calm down. She forcibly removed her finger from her mouth before she could do any more damage. _You're a fully-trained member of International Rescue_, she told herself sternly as her muscles began to relax. _Stop acting like a frightened child! They'll be fine … _Alan_will be fine …_

Alan.

Everything always seemed to come back to Alan. Even when she didn't want it to – even when nothing aggravated her more – Tin-Tin still found herself thinking about Alan Tracy. And cursing his name. And, in this current situation, worrying herself half to death about him.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. She and Alan … they'd been friends for so long. Sure, their first meeting hadn't been exactly brilliant – he'd pulled her hair and she'd pushed him into the pull – but over the intervening years they'd become closer than she could ever have imagined. Tin-Tin knew there were things that Alan told her that he wouldn't tell any other person – not even members of his family – and the same was true of her. Even Fermat, the third member of their little group, had noted the changes between them all, particularly in the last couple of years. Had he been anyone else, Fermat probably would have reacted with jealously, but luckily for Alan and Tin-Tin he'd taken everything in his stride.

Randomly, Tin-Tin wondered what Fermat would think if he knew she and Alan had kissed. Just thinking about that unexpected development made her cheeks flame. It was the cause of all her current problems and yet she just couldn't get it out of her mind. The feeling of Alan's soft lips pressing nervously against hers, the sudden quickening of her pulse and most of all, the feeling of complete 'rightness' that refused to leave her. Even now, when she should have been completely focused on what was undeniably a complicated mission, Tin-Tin's attention was wandering back towards the kiss and the problem of Alan Tracy.

Feeling frustrated with her own inability to focus, Tin-Tin was about to cast about for something else to occupy her time when a flurry of activity around the mine's entrance snared her attention. Squinting against the glare of the afternoon sun, a rush of relief suffused her as one of the dark blurs began to coalesce into a familiar figure.

Though she wanted nothing more than to greet those emerging from the mine, Tin-Tin knew she had been neglecting her duty long enough. Turning to Mobile Control, she patched a hurried connection through to Thunderbird 5.

"Thunderbird 5 from Mobile Control. Please respond."

Before she had even finished speaking, the worried face of John Tracy appeared on her screen. He was hiding his anxiety well but Tin-Tin could see his concern in the tight lines around his eyes and the way his skin almost matched the bleached colour of his hair. "_Thunderbird 5 all receiving. What's going on down there_?" his voice was level and only someone who knew him as well as Tin-Tin would notice the underlying note of tension.

"Virgil's just emerged from the mine," Tin-Tin reported, a smile breaking over her face. "There are two – wait, no _three_ with him. I think one of them is Gordon … yes, yes I can see him now. Virgil, Gordon and two strangers – they must be the miners." She narrowed her eyes. "They're carrying something …"

"_It must be Scott_. _Didn't Alan say he was on a stretcher_?"

Tin-Tin nodded, her eyes scanning the group intently, searching for one particular face. It was difficult to make anything more out; the waiting paramedics had swooped down upon the weary group as soon as they had stepped into the sunlight and as Tin-Tin watched, the stretcher bearing Scott was lifted into the back of one of the ambulances.

She described the scene distractedly to John, her eyes still straining for any sign of the only person still unaccounted for. Where was he?

John was still talking. "_I'll contact base and let them know what's happening. Find out what hospital they're going to, will you?_"

"FAB."

"Tin-Tin?" a second voice demanded her attention and the young woman looked up see that a weary, dust-covered Virgil was standing before her, having crossed the rough grass from the mine's entrance.

"Virgil!" Even though she had known he was okay, seeing him in front of her, safe and whole, still brought a bright smile to her face. "Are you okay?"

Virgil shrugged fluidly. "Nothing a nice long soak in the bath won't fix."

"_How are Scott and Gordon_?"

Virgil leaned over the console so that he could see John's face. "They're going to be okay. Paramedics are taking them to Morriston Hospital – it's a couple of miles southwest of here. I'm going to follow them in TB 2."

"_FAB. I'll let base know._" John paused before he cut the connection and looked seriously at his brother. "_I'm glad you're all okay, Virgil_."

Virgil grinned. "You and me both. Talk about charmed lives."

John smiled as his image disappeared from Mobile Control's screen.

Virgil turned to Tin-Tin. "Can you get this all packed away in Thunderbird 1? We're about ready to move out."

"Yeah, sure …" Tin-Tin bit her lip as Virgil turned to go. "Virgil!" she called suddenly.

He glanced back over his shoulder. "What?"

Tin-Tin swallowed. "… Where's Alan?"

* * *

Alan Tracy was regretting his decision to be the one to crawl back through the mine in the Mole, dragging the broken hull of the Firefly behind him.

For one thing, the additional weight of the Firefly was making the journey incredibly slow-going and having to navigate between the metal supports the firemen had erected to support his escape route made his job even more difficult. Then there was the fact that it was so hot and stuffy inside the Mole that Alan was beginning to feel rather light-headed.

He ran one hand over his forehead in a vain attempt to sooth away the growing ache that seemed to radiate out from the back of his skull to encompass his whole head. What he wouldn't do for an aspirin right now, but unfortunately he couldn't spare the time from driving the Mole to search the vehicle for any kind of first aid kit.

The darkness beyond the Mole's lights was very disorientating. Alan had no way of judging how long he had been struggling to get out of the mine; the minutes were beginning to blur together. His eyelids were starting to droop and it became harder and harder to force them open each time.

A vague feeling of unease stirred in the pit of Alan's stomach. _The heat must really be getting to me_, he thought hazily, fixing his eyes on the beams of light that were his only guide through the darkness of the mine._Funny, I don't remember it being this hot when I was coming in. Maybe it's that damn fire again, playing with me_ …

His mind started drifting as the sea of black swam before his eyes. He found himself wondering what all of his family were doing at that very moment; whether Virgil, Gordon and Scott had reached the exterior of the mine yet; how much longer it would take his Dad to reach them and how John was coping, trapped up in Thunderbird 5 with no one but Tin-Tin to give him sporadic reports …

Tin-Tin.

Ah, Tin-Tin. The one person that Alan had been studiously trying to _avoid_ thinking about, and the one person who simply refused to get out of his head. Thoughts of the pretty Malayan girl seemed to stalk him; even now, when he should have been concentrating on the task at hand, he found himself constantly returning to Tin-Tin Kyrano.

She was just … she was just so … so _Tin-Tin_. With her shiny dark hair, and her smooth golden skin and those eyes … those dark eyes that seemed to see right down into the heart of your soul. Those unfathomable eyes that ensnared you and refused to relinquish their grip. Those deep liquid pools that absorbed you, consumed you … those eyes … those beautiful eyes …

Alan's head lolled forward and his hand slipped off the controls. For one fateful second, the Mole was careening unchecked towards the bare rock wall of the mine but before the deadly collision could occur, Alan came back to himself with a jolt and yanked furiously at the controls. The Mole shuddered to a halt a couple of inches before the rock-face, with an ear-wrenching grinding of mechanics.

His hands shaking, Alan cut the power to the engine and took several deep, controlled breaths. That had been too close. For the first time he could understand what people meant when they talked about 'staring death in the face' – and it wasn't an experience he would ever care to repeat. Staring out into the darkness that had nearly consumed him, Alan cursed his foolish and almost fatal lack of attention. If his brothers ever found out about this then he'd never hear the end of it and as for his dad … well, to his dad it would be just one more example of Alan's irresponsibility.

Determined that he wasn't going to suffer such a frightening loss of concentration again, Alan grabbed the first thing he could find in the back of the Mole and shoved it resolutely beneath his thighs. The sharp edges of the flashlight pressed uncomfortably against his skin but it was a small price to pay for avoiding another collision with the wall and being buried beneath hundreds of feet of rock.

Gingerly restarting the Mole's engines, Alan eased the vehicle away from the side of the tunnel and continued his lonely journey back towards the light.


	8. Chapter Eight: Aftermath

**Chapter Eight: Aftermath**

By the time Jefferson Tracy reached the remote coal mine in Wales, it was all over.

Acting on instructions from John in Thunderbird 5, Jeff had circled the site of the Gleision Colliery before angling the great red craft towards the west and heading for the hospital that was currently playing host to four out of his five sons.

He had located Thunderbirds 1 and 2 resting under the watchful eye of Tin-Tin on a nearby golf course. After landing the rocket beside her sister crafts and exchanging a few words with Tin-Tin, he and Brains had hurried down the road towards the hospital.

Now Jeff strode quickly towards the entrance of the hospital, Brains struggling to keep up with him. The stout security guard on the door took one glance at the daunting combination of Jeff's uniform and determined expression, gulped, and waved them through without comment.

As the automatic doors closed behind them, Jeff felt himself relaxing slightly for the first time since leaving Tracy Island. Although he was still worried about his sons, he knew from John's report that none of their injuries were life threatening and now that he was here in the same place as them, he knew that everything was going to be alright. It was a huge relief; there was nothing Jeff Tracy feared more than losing one of his precious sons.

The awe-stricken receptionist passed them into the company of a passing nurse and within two minutes of entering the hospital, Jeff and Brains were shown into building's single large ward where everyone from the accident site had been brought.

The first person Jeff saw was Alan. He was sitting beside one of the nearer beds, his arms folded on top of the clean white linen, and his chin resting on his hands. He looked exhausted; his uniform was covered in a mixture of soot and dirt and although his face looked as if it had been recently scrubbed, it couldn't conceal the fact that his skin was too pale and there were dark smudges underneath his bloodshot eyes. Watching him, Jeff felt a surge of pride. Alan had done well today – he'd finally put to rest some of the doubts that Jeff still harboured about whether Alan was really ready to be a Thunderbird – and when they had a spare moment, Jeff intended to talk to his son about that. Communication with his sons wasn't one of Jeff's strong points but he knew how fragile Alan's self-esteem could be and how much his son would appreciate the praise.

"Alan?"

His son's blond head rose at the sound of his name and his weary face registered surprise when he caught sight of his father. "Sir!" He stood up and came around the bed, but mindful of the room's other residents, he hung back from Jeff.

Jeff closed the distance between them and clasped Alan's hand in his; the most intimate gesture he would get away with around in front of so many strangers. "How are you, Alan?" he asked, his eyes searching his son's face and picking up worrying smears of blood around the young man's neck and the collar of his uniform – and the rough piece of gauze taped to the back of his head.

Alan shrugged his shoulders, not quite meeting Jeff's eyes. "It's just a bump on the head - I'm okay, sir. We all are. I guess we were really lucky this time."

Alan's words did little to convince him, but at the mention of his other children, Jeff's eyes strayed across to the bed that Alan had just moved away from. The familiar auburn hair of his second youngest stood out starkly against the crisp, white of the hospital bedding but although Gordon's eyes were closed, his face was calm. He actually looked a lot better off than Alan, regardless of which one of them was lying in the bed.

"Tell me what happened," Jeff ordered. Although he had heard a report from John, he wanted further confirmation that his son really was going to be okay.

Alan followed his father's gaze. "He dislocated his shoulder. Said his arm got trapped when the mine collapsed. The nurses gave him some local anaesthetic for the pain and then they popped his shoulder back into place. He's sleeping it off now."

Jeff moved over to the bed and resisted the urge to push the copper-coloured hair back from Gordon's forehead. As much as he wanted to comfort his son, you could never tell who was watching and the last thing he wanted to do was compromise International Rescue.

"He'll be okay, Da – um … _sir_."

Jeff continued to gaze down at his son. Beneath the sheet that Gordon had pulled over himself, Jeff could just make out the edges of the sling that strapped his son's injured arm to his chest. From experience Jeff knew it would be several weeks before Gordon would have full use of his arm back, despite how fit and healthy his son was. With Scott likely to be off International Rescue's active roster for equally as long, this rescue had turned out to be far more costly than Jeff could ever have imagined.

"What about Scott and Virgil?" he asked abruptly, realising he hadn't seen his older sons yet.

"Over there." Alan indicated a bed slightly further down the ward, over which a petite nurse was working quietly. Standing to one side and watching her progress were Virgil and Brains.

Jeff placed a hand on Alan's shoulder. "Keep an eye on Gordon."

"Yes, sir."

"And get yourself checked out," Jeff added, eyeing the blood staining Alan's neck.

The flash of irritation on Alan's face was fleeting. "Yes, sir."

Patting his son's shoulder twice, Jeff moved off down the ward towards where Virgil and Brains were standing. They both looked up as Jeff approached and Virgil's weary face split into a smile.

"It's good to see you, sir."

"And you, Virgil." Jeff ran his eyes over his son and when he was sure that Virgil was uninjured, he turned eagerly towards the bed his son and Brains had been watching.

Here he frowned, for instead of the familiar dark head of his oldest son he was confronted by a man he'd never seen before. Like Jeff's sons, the swarthy man bore the signs of having been in the mine, in his soot covered hair and the deep gash which was being treated on his arm.

It was not what he had expected. "Where's Scott?" he demanded.

"You just missed him," Virgil explained. "The doctors took him up to x-ray."

"You didn't go with him?"

"They wouldn't let me. Family only, they said." An ironic half-smile tugged at Virgil's mouth.

Jeff's frown deepened. It was at times like these that he cursed the obsessive need for absolute secrecy that came with the territory in International Rescue. It made hospital visits in particular very difficult.

"What do you know about his injuries?"

"Doctor Richardson told Scott he suspected it was a classic tib-fib fracture of the right leg but they took him to x-ray just to be sure." Virgil shrugged. "I thought it was a lot worse – talk about relieved."

_A broken leg and a dislocated shoulder _… _someone must have been watching over them in that mine_.

"We were all so lucky," Virgil murmured, unconsciously echoing Alan's earlier words. "So damn lucky. Things could have been a hell of a lot worse."

"It's a m-m-mi-mi-mir-mira _amazing_ that you all got out a-al-al-aliv – _okay_," Brains commented softly.

Jeff found himself nodding in agreement. It had been a long time since he'd been so forcibly reminded of the mortality of his family, but when he'd heard that the mine had collapsed on top of his sons, it had brought it all back to him. Not since the incident with the Hood three years ago had he been so frightened for their lives.

"What about the miners?" The mission was ever-present at the back of Jeff's mind.

A shadow passed over Virgil's face. "We got five out before the mine collapsed. Then Gordon saved another two. The other four…" he sighed and ran a hand over his face, "… the other four we lost."

Jeff knew how disheartening an unsuccessful rescue could be. The operatives of International Rescue weren't gods; they had their successes but they also had their failures. And in a situation as dangerous as this one had turned out to be, the fact that they had managed to save even _one _of the miners was a great achievement.

Not that his boys would be placated by such a thought. They also took such failures personally – especially Scott. In his position as Field Commander he always berated himself for those people they lost, wondering if things would have been different had he reacted that little bit faster.

"I'll expect a full report from you when we get back to base."

Virgil nodded, probably having expected as such considering that Scott was out of action and John was up on Thunderbird 5.

"Now I'm going to see if I can track down this elusive doctor of yours and find out how long it's going to take to transfer Scott and Gordon out of here."

"How're you going get them to agree to that?" Virgil asked curiously.

Jeff smiled slowly. "Your Commander can be a very persuasive man when he needs to be."

* * *

Despite Jeff Tracy's powers of persuasion, it was still several hours later before the hospital agreed to release Scott and Gordon into his care. Partly it was a result of the eternal 'family' problem and partly it was because they all had to wait while Scott returned from x-ray and then the entire length of his right leg put into plaster. It seemed that Doctor Richardson's diagnosis had been correct. Scott had broken both of the bones in his lower right leg and only the relatively simple nature of the breaks had kept him out of the operating theatre. Doctor Richardson had been incredibly reluctant to let him go and it was only after Scott himself promised he would phone with weekly updates that the earnest young Welshman had allowed him to discharge himself.

Gordon had been less of a problem, particularly after he'd woken up and flashed a devilish smile at the attractive young nurse who had been attending to him. Blushing, she had warned him not to put any undue pressure on his arm and to simply let it heal naturally and once he had earnestly promised her he would follow her words to the letter, she had been happy to release him.

Unfortunately, despite the relatively simple nature of their injuries, neither Gordon nor Scott could possibly pilot one of the Thunderbirds – although Gordon loudly protested against such a conclusion. So it was that Jeff, reluctantly, took control of Thunderbird 1, assigned Virgil and Brains to Thunderbird 2 and left Thunderbird 3 in the hands of Alan and Tin-Tin. While both were fully qualified members of International Rescue, there was no denying that Alan and Tin-Tin had the least amount of actual flying experience and as all of the great crafts sped away from the hospital there was a definite note of tension in the air.

Alan Tracy secured the autopilot controls and then sat back in the pilot seat of Thunderbird 3 with a sigh. His take-off hadn't been as horrific as it could have been and at least when he was called to the land his rocket into her silo back on Tracy Island he wouldn't have an audience of his family.

He rubbed his forehead restlessly, feeling completely worn out. Although the wound on the back of his head had stopped bleeding some time ago, his body's exhausted state had resulted in an increasingly intense headache, The pain swam behind his eyes, making him dizzy and Alan started to wonder if he'd made a huge mistake by taking matters into his own hands back at the hospital. He was certainly beginning to regret not snagging some painkillers when he'd had the chance. At least then this journey home would have been that little bit more bearable.

The problem was, Morriston Hospital had been ill equipped to deal with such a large influx of people. A local country hospital, they only had limited numbers of staff, so it was easy to understand why they'd struggled to cope with the number of miners and International Rescue members who had needed tending to.

When he and Virgil had brought Scott, Gordon and the two miners in, the young Doctor Richardson had already looked run off his feet. It was then that Alan had quietly taken himself away to the toilets, securing a piece of gauze and a length of tape off a passing drugs cart as he did so.

_The staff of the hospital are hard pushed enough as it is_, he had told himself as he had scrubbed the blood from his face. _I can deal with this myself. It's not like it's anything serious._

It had been the work of minutes to lightly clean the wound with a wad of tissue from the toilets and tape the square of gauze onto the back of his head. Getting the traces of the blood out of his blond hair had been harder and even now, some of his hair still had that unpleasant, sticky feeling that he would only be rid of after a rigorous washing.

_Keep your mind on the mission_, Alan told himself sharply as his eyes started to sag. Blinking slowly, he leaned forward and double-checked that he had engaged the autopilot correctly. The last thing he needed was to cause more problems by dive-bombing Thunderbird 3 into the ocean.

Beside him, Tin-Tin finished her own calculations and then looked at him shyly from out of the corner of her eye. She'd been unusually silent so far, speaking only when she had to and as Alan caught her surreptitious look, the remaining lucid part of his mind recognised the determined expression on her face. She was going to say something and he was going to listen whether he wanted to or not.

"Alan …"

It was the first time she had addressed him directly, and voluntarily, since that disastrous kiss and it was for this reason that Alan pushed his discomfort aside and met her dark gaze.

"Yeah?"

Tin-Tin swallowed, suddenly looking a lot less confident. "Um … I just … Alan … Alan, we're not friends, are we?"

Of all the things he had expected her to come out with, this would have been at the bottom of the list. He stared at her, trying to work his way through her twisted female logic and failing miserably.

Still, she _was_ talking to him. Even if he didn't understand, it was a vast improvement on the icy silence and awkward glances they'd been sharing over the past several days.

"Er … no?" he guessed finally, bracing himself for the explanation if he was wrong.

Apparently it was the right answer because Tin-Tin nodded unhappily. "No, we're not. We haven't been for ages. We've been … we've been …" She looked up at him through her dark lashes. " … We've been something more, haven't we?"

Why did she have to keep asking him question he didn't know the answer to? His head throbbed angrily and Alan winced, wondering if Tin-Tin would mind if they postponed this particular conversation until he could think clearly. His head was spinning and the world in front of his eyes was beginning to as well. "I guess," he answered vaguely.

Tin-Tin nodded again, her gaze darting down to where her hands were twisting in her lap. "And it was all going so well until you – until we … until … and then everything was all messed up! I was so angry and confused and you were there and I didn't want you to be and – and I just needed time, but I couldn't get away from you and everything and … oh, this isn't coming out right at all." Tin-Tin paused and took a deep breath. She was still staring down at her hands. "What I'm trying to say is … I was scared. _Really _scared. The mine collapsed and you – and I thought, 'what if he – what if he doesn't make it, and I didn't get to make things better?' But then you were there and you were okay, and I thought 'we've been given a second chance!' So I knew I had to tell you truth … do you know what I'm trying to say?"

Alan tried to listen, part of him recognising that this was important to Tin-Tin, but the constant burning in his head was incredibly distracting and he was starting to feel sick. It was all he could to stare at the coloured lights of Thunderbird 3's control panels and try and settle his stomach as Tin-Tin's words washed over him.

_God, the 'no painkillers' thing was a really bad idea_, he thought blearily as the coloured lights began to blur and mutate before his eyes. _I wonder if Tin-Tin knows where any are …_

It was at that moment that Alan realised Tin-Tin had finished speaking and had raised her head. She was staring at him, her pretty face twisted into an angry mask and her dark eyes shining suspiciously.

"You didn't listen to a word I said, did you?" she shouted, blinking rapidly. "Here I was pouring my heart out to you – _trying _to make amends for _your_ stupid mistake – and all you can do is stare at the controls and ignore me? Well _screw you_, Alan Tracy! _Screw you_!" Her voice got louder and louder, her loud words stinging Alan's aching head like angry wasps. He opened his mouth to try and explain but she cut him off. "I've had enough! Whatever stupid, immature, _pathetic_ thing we had, it's – it's over! _Over_. Do you understand? I'm not wasting another moment of my time on you! In fact, I don't even want to _see_ you again, so once we get back the island, stay the _hell_ away from me!"

Alan followed slowly as Tin-Tin's anger-fuelled steps propelled her away from Thunderbird 3's silo. Her back was still rigid with tension and despite his best efforts, she still hadn't spoken to him since her outburst half-way across the Pacific Ocean.

Alan knew he'd screwed up – he wasn't stupid – but at that moment in time, there didn't seem to be anything he could do to correct his mistake. It was all he could to keep himself upright and instead of forming appropriate explanations, as his mind _should_ have been doing, all he could think about was collapsing onto his bed and sleeping for a week.

_Besides,_ the more stubborn side of him persisted, _she didn't give me a chance to explain, did she? So in some ways this is as much _her_ fault as it is mine. I mean, who decides to have a super- emotional conversation in a rocket ship? It's completely stupid. She _knew _I was exhausted after the rescue but she couldn't wait, could she? No, she was completely selfish – not thinking about others at all – so really, this is all _her _fault …_

There was something slightly awry with his logic but Alan shoved his concerns aside and concentrated on simply putting one foot in front of the other. His progress was slow and by the time he reached the main living area of the villa, he found that Tin-Tin was already there and involved in an intense discussion with her parents. The tears that had held themselves back on Thunderbird 3 were falling now and Onaha's arms were wrapped around her daughters as Kyrano stroked her silky black hair. All three looked up when Alan entered the room and he froze, feeling horribly uncomfortable. The accusation in Kyrano's eyes was impossible to miss.

"Er – I'm sorry … I'll just be …" The words dried in Alan's mouth.

Kyrano took a step forward. "We would like some time alone, Master Alan." His meaning was unmistakable.

"Right …" A sudden thought struck Alan and he added, "My Dad?"

"You are the first to return." Never had Kyrano's voice been so cold.

Alan hardly noticed; his nausea had returned and he was working at suppressing it. "Can you … can you tell him I've gone to bed?"

Kyrano nodded curtly and Alan stumbled gladly out of the room.

The journey to his bedroom passed in a confusing whirl of chaotic thoughts and emotions and before Alan could even begin to put them all in order, he was entering a room that's messy state very much reflected his current state of mind.

Alan closed his bedroom door behind him and sagged against it, cradling his aching head in his hands. The lure of his bed was incredibly strong but instead of picking his way towards it across the piles of clothes, papers and books that littered the floor, Alan turned instead to his bathroom. He wanted to check the wound on the back of his head before he went to sleep – make sure it hadn't started bleeding again.

Alan shuffled into the bathroom and tugged on the light-chord. The sudden illumination was disorientating; the light danced on the white tiles and reflected back and forth in the mirrors. Alan wavered, feeling faint. A thrill of fear shot through him as the image in front of his eyes began to twist and turn. He'd suffered from exhaustion before – had even fainted once when between the pressures of schoolwork and International Rescue training he had forgotten to eat – but something was telling him that this was more serious than a simple case of being too tired.

This pain … it wasn't normal. It wasn't – it wasn't right …

_Have to check the wound._ The words circled obsessively round in Alan's head. _Have to check the wound – then you'll know._

Alan took an unsteady step forward and his blurry image swam into view in the mirror above his sink. He narrowed his eyes, trying to focus on his pale reflection, as his shaking hands gripped the sides of the sink.

Blue eyes met blue eyes in the glass and for one long, timeless moment, Alan Tracy stared at his haggard and paper-white face, a horrible comprehension dawning over him. He opened his mouth to call for help but the moment passed and his legs suddenly gave out. He fell heavily against the sink, knocking all the wind out of his body. His hands grasped for purchase against the smooth china but only succeeded in knocking his toothbrush onto the floor as he slid inexorably down to join it. The last thing he saw before his eyes rolled back in his head was the slender piece of green plastic spinning in a slow circle before finally coming to a gentle halt.


	9. Chapter Nine: Knock on Effect

**Chapter Nine: Knock-on Effects**

Gordon Tracy yawned and swung himself slowly out of bed.

The morning sun was streaming happily through his windows and it looked like it was going to be another beautiful day on the island. The weather matched Gordon's mood; thanks to the wonderful painkillers the hospital had prescribed for him, the pain in his shoulder had been reduced to a dull ache and thanks to the previously day's rescue, he'd actually been able to have a proper lie-in.

Not that it had lasted very long. Gordon stood up and stretched carefully, wary of dislodging his strapped shoulder. He knew if he didn't venture out into the family room soon, his dad would send someone to find him. Jeff had foregone a full report about the rescue the previous night but this morning he wasn't likely to be as patient. Especially not when you considered how close they'd all come to losing everything in that lonely mine in Wales.

Gordon pulled a robe around himself and cast a longing look at his bathroom. As much as he wanted to jump straight into the shower and wash off all the grime he'd accrued during the rescue, his stomach was ordering him to make a beeline towards the kitchen. He wavered, undecided, and then his stomach let out an angry gurgle and grinning, Gordon padded across the floor and pulled his door open. The shower could wait; besides, his family had seen him looking at lot worse.

Outside in the corridor, there was a distinct scent of frying bacon. Gordon licked his lips and followed the delicious smell down the corridor, already feeling his mouth filling with saliva. It wasn't often that they had a fully cooked breakfast in the mornings – Onaha didn't approve of the cholesterol – but on the days following a particularly difficult rescue, she obliged without comment.

As Gordon hurried past Alan's closed door he grinned to himself. There had been no hide nor hair of his little brother the previous evening and when Jeff had asked after him, Kyrano had reported that Alan had headed straight to bed. Going by the fact that his door was still firmly shut, Gordon guess Alan was still enjoying the comforts of a warm bed. He idly wondered whether he should wake Alan up for breakfast but then a second waft of food – fried bread this time – drifted down the corridor and Gordon's stomach took over. He shrugged and moved willing off down the corridor. If Alan didn't want to get out of bed to eat Onaha's wonderful breakfast then that meant more for the rest of them – thought Gordon wouldn't want to be his little brother when their father started the inevitable debriefing and realised that Alan wasn't present.

When Gordon entered the vast room that served as both a kitchen and family room, he saw that he wasn't the only one who'd been captivated by the smell of Onaha's cooking. Virgil and a sleepy looking Tin-Tin were already sitting at the table, the former tucking into a vast breakfast and the latter sipping at a tall glass of orange juice. At the head of the table was Gordon's father, his face hidden behind the pages of a newspaper. Of Scott there was no sign, but that wasn't so unusual considering his mobility wasn't exactly a hundred percent. Kyrano – who was also conspicuous by his absence – was probably taking him a tray in his room.

Gordon slid into the seat opposite his brother and Tin-Tin and beamed up at Onaha when she placed a plate as large as Virgil's in front of him.

"Thanks," he managed to get out before plunging into it. Onaha gave him a disapproving look and turned away as Gordon attempted to cut a piece of bacon in half with only his fork.

"I was wondering when you were going to emerge," Virgil commented, looking across the table at his brother.

"Hey, I'm the walking-wounded here. Aren't I allowed a lie-in?"

Virgil glanced at their dad and shrugged. "I guess. How _is_ your shoulder this morning?"

"Numb." Gordon grinned. "Those painkillers the hospital gave me are _amazing_." He finally succeeded on slicing his bacon in two and stuffed both halves into his mouth, one after the other.

"I see it's not slowing your appetite down," his father remarked dryly from behind his paper.

"Take more than a busted arm to do that," Gordon agreed cheerfully, turning his attention to the hash browns. "Talking of war-wounds, how's Scott?"

"Being waited on hand and foot," Virgil replied, chewing steadily.

"Bet he hates that." Scott was Mr-Active, Always-Had-To-Be-On-The-Move. Being confined to his bed and having Kyrano for all intense and purposes acting as his personal servant must have been driving him to insanity. "Maybe I'll go and visit him later. Cheer him up."

"You're not getting out of clean-up that easily."

"But I'm _injured_." Gordon stressed the word, his eyes dancing. "I couldn't possibly help to clean those huge, vast, _massive_ machines –"

Virgil threw a piece of toast across the table. It hit Gordon squarely between the eyes and he broke off, laughing. Beside Virgil, Tin-Tin had apparently not noticed the flying toast; she was staring morosely into her orange juice and Jeff's face was still hidden behind the pages of his newspaper. Only Brains and Fermat looked suitably shocked, and that was because they'd only just entered the kitchen.

Gordon, his spirits still high, grinned impishly at Fermat as the younger boy joined them at the table. Catching his expression, Fermat looked immediately wary – he'd been on the receiving end of a number of Gordon's jokes – and he cast a questioning glance about the table.

"W-Where's Alan?" Fermat asked curiously, eyeing Gordon slightly nervously.

Virgil had his mouth full, Tin-Tin was still studying her orange juice and didn't say anything, and so it was left to Gordon to reply. "Dunno." He took pity on Fermat and turned his attention back to his plate, eyeing his baked beans speculatively and wondering if he'd be able to scrape them all up with only his fork. "His door was still shut when I passed."

"It's not like him to pass up one of Onaha's breakfasts," Virgil observed thoughtfully.

It was Gordon's turn to shrug, though the movement was a lot less fluid than his brother's. "I guess he's still asleep." He stabbed at the beans but only succeeded in picking up three.

"He _was_ tired yesterday," Virgil allowed, putting his fork down.

"We _all_ were." Tin-Tin spoke abruptly, taking them all by surprise. "Alan's no different."

_Uh, oh, _Gordon thought as he watched Tin-Tin tight, unhappy face._ Tin-Tin and Alan have had another fight_._ Sticking them both in Thunderbird 3 probably wasn't the best idea …_

"Well it's him that's missing out," Gordon pointed out, chasing the errant beans unsuccessfully around his plate. Growing frustrated, he abandoned his efforts and turned his attention to the two sausages that still remained untouched in his plate. Sticking his fork firmly into one of them, he lifted the whole sausage to his mouth and bit the end off.

Opposite him, Tin-Tin pulled a face. "That's disgusting!"

"Arm," Gordon tried to say, but it came out as more of a garbled spray of bits a flying sausage.

Looking deeply offended, Tin-Tin collected her glass and rose from the table as Gordon continued to beam at her, chewing the sausage slowly. Tin-Tin sniffed at him and then stalked away and Gordon swallowed the laughter that threatened to choke him.

"Gordon, that's enough," his father said from behind his paper. "You're not ten anymore. Stop playing with your food."

Gordon was tempted to ask his father how _he'd_ like to manage with only one hand to feed himself with but something told him this wasn't the best time to try and make a point. One of the earliest rules that all of the Tracy sons had learned was that their father was not a man to be trifled with. Well, all the Tracy sons except Alan; he seemed to be somewhat of a slow-learner and appeared to have an almost supernatural ability to aggravate their father at the worst possible moment.

Apparently taking Gordon's silence as acquiescence, Jeff folded his paper and put it down on the table. "Can someone go and wake Alan? He might be tired but we need him here with the debriefing."

Gordon smiled behind his sausage at the flash of irritation in his dad's voice. Even when Alan wasn't in the room he could still annoy Jeff Tracy like no one else.

Virgil made to rise. "I'll go –"

Gordon shook his head and waved his brother back down into his seat. "No, _I'll_ go."

"What about your breakfast?"

Gordon eyed his half-eaten food mournfully and took one last stab at his beans. When his fork failed to succeed to spear any of them, he sighed disgustedly and dropped it back onto his plate. "They'll be other breakfasts. Hopefully when I have _two_ arms in use. Besides, there's a certain knack for getting Alan out of bed in the mornings."

"What, jumping on him?"

Gordon grinned innocently. "Me?"

"You're not jumping on anyone with your shoulder in that condition."

Gordon rolled his eyes. "Relax, dad. I'm not going to jump on him … today."

Grinning in an exaggeratedly evil fashion, Gordon left his family with that happy thought and ducked out of the kitchen. Strolling down the corridor, he stopped before Alan's closed door and raised his good hand. "Wakey, wakey, Alan!" he called, knocking loudly.

There was no reply – but Gordon wasn't particularly surprised. Alan was a notoriously heavy sleeper – Scott had once remarked that the rescue siren could go off and all the Thunderbirds could be launched and Alan would sleep happily through it all.

More through force of habit then any actual thought that he would get a response, Gordon banged on the door again. "Yo, Al – look alive!"

Sure enough, only silence greeted his cheerful words. Deciding that he'd given his brother enough warning, Gordon reached out and was about to shove Alan's door open when a voice hailed him from further up the corridor.

"Mr Gordon, sir?"

Gordon turned to see Kyrano hurrying up the corridor towards him, a breakfast tray in his hands. As the older man drew closer, Gordon noticed that the food on the tray had barely been touched and Kyrano himself was looking rather stressed.

"Everything okay, Kyrano?"

Kyrano shook his head resolutely. "I'm afraid not, Mr Gordon. Your father requested I take breakfast to your older brother, but when I try Mr Scott refuses to eat anything! Please, Mr Gordon, will you talk to him? I fear what my dear wife will say if I return to the kitchen with Mr Scott's plate like this!"

Gordon grinned at the fact that Kyrano was more worried about Onaha's reaction than Jeff's. It was understandable; Kyrano's wife was a force to be reckoned with within the Tracy household. It was certainly clear where Tin-Tin got her fiery spirit from.

He glanced once at Alan's closed door, wavered for a moment, and then released the handle. After all, Alan would wake eventually and despite his initial humour over Kyrano's predicament, Scott refusing to eat was not a healthy development.

"Have no fear, Kyrano, I'll sort Scott out for you." He glanced down at his strapped arm and grinned. " 'Course, you'll have to carry the tray."

Kyrano didn't look altogether reassured but before he could say anything else, Gordon was striding off down the corridor and the older man had no choice but to trail in his wake.

* * *

"How long does it take to wake your brother up?" Jeff demanded irritably as he nursed a steaming cup of coffee. Some time had passed since Gordon had left the kitchen and now even Fermat had finished his breakfast and was on the verge of leaving the table. Of Gordon and Alan however, there was still no sign.

"Alan _is_ a heavy sleeper," Virgil reminded him.

"Yeah," Fermat piped up. "Do you re-re-rec-reca remember that t-time when there's was that e-ex-exp-explo accident in the s-silos? He d-didn't even w-w-wa-wa emerge from his r-room."

"What's Gordon's excuse?" Jeff countered sourly. "He seems to have conveniently forgotten about the debriefing _and_ the clean-up."

In an attempt to stave off another inevitable Jeff-Alan-Gordon argument, a weary Virgil rose from the table. "I'll go and see what's keeping them."

He slipped out of the kitchen and walked quickly along the corridor with a vigour he didn't feel. In truth, he wanted nothing more than to follow Alan's lead and return to his bed but in the efforts of keeping the peace in the Tracy household, he stopped in front of his little brother's door instead.

"Alan? You decent?" He knocked half-heartedly but received no response.

Virgil tried again. "Are you even awake?" He waited for a few silent moments and then sighed. "Apparently not. Well, I'm just coming in anyway."

Opening the door, Virgil slipped inside. He surveyed his little brother's room and despite his impatience with the whole situation the ragged untidiness of the place made him smile. If a room could reflect someone's personality then there was no doubt that this was Alan Tracy's bedroom.

A mixture of clothes, books and parts of what appeared to be some kind electronic equipment were scattered liberally across the floor. The shelves were cluttered with model spaceships, including the small red model of Thunderbird 3 that Gordon had given Alan for his last birthday. Although Alan had laughed at it at the time, the model took pride of place in his room and everyone knew how much it meant to him.

Alan's desk stood against the vast ceiling-to-floor windows that dominated one side of his room. It, like the floor, was completely littered with various pieces of paper – so much so that it was difficult to make out Alan's computer although Virgil knew he had one. At the moment the blinds had been drawn but normally Alan could sit at his desk and enjoy the beauty of the island while he worked – as all his brothers did in their respective rooms.

Beyond the desk, double-doors opened out onto a balcony that overlooked the swimming pools below. Virgil's own balcony was spotless but judging by Alan's room, his balcony was probably less inviting. Virgil decided to keep his distance and headed towards the bed instead.

He picked his way carefully across the floor, being careful not to trip and fall. After all the injuries they'd collectively accrued in the rescue, the last thing they needed was _another _broken bone.

Alan's bed was pushed up against the left-hand wall of his room and as Virgil neared it emerged from behind a particularly tall pile of dirty washing. The first unusual thing that struck Virgil about it was that it was empty and his second realisation was that it didn't even appear to have been slept in.

Virgil frowned, a thread of unease tickling at the back of his mind as his eyes scanned the rest of the room. Alan was _not_ an early-riser; it would be highly unlikely that he had left his room and was somewhere else in the house. Especially not with breakfast waiting for him in the kitchen. And the previous evening, Kyrano had distinctly said that Alan had gone to bed before Thunderbirds 1 and 2 had returned. But he certainly wasn't here now and the bed …

Virgil's turned away from the bed and his eyes alighted on the bathroom door. Feeling a peculiar sense of urgency, he picked his way carefully across the floor, narrowly avoiding tripping over a pile of discarded clothes that his little brother had so helpfully dropped outside the en-suite. It was only after he had regained his balance that he realised the bathroom was as silent as Alan's room had been.

A sudden sense of dread swept through Virgil.

"Alan?" His heart beginning to thump unpleasantly, he raised his hand to knock against the door. However, as his fist collided with the wooden door, it swung inward, revealing a scene that would forever haunt Virgil's nightmares.

His little brother lay on his side on the tiled floor of the bathroom, his eyes closed and a small pool of dried blood around his head. He wasn't moving.

"Alan!" Virgil scrambled to his brother's side and turned him over so that he lay on his back. Alan's skin was pale underneath his golden tan and his breathing was becoming shallower and shallower. Frantic, Virgil fumbled to lift his eyelids only to discover that his pupils were sluggish and un-reactive to the light from the overheard lamp. Pressing his trembling fingers against Alan's neck he uncovered a similarly terrifying situation; Alan pulse was so weak he could barely feel it.

Panic rose up inside of Virgil, entwining itself around him. "_Help_!" he yelled. "_Somebody help me_!"

He bent back over Alan, slapping his face gently. "Alan, Alan can you hear me? Open your eyes! _Dammit_, Alan, open your eyes!"

Alan didn't respond and his eyes remained stubbornly closed.

Virgil began to regret moving him. Aside from the obvious head injury, which had been opened again when Alan had collapsed, he had no idea what other injuries his little brother may have incurred that would leave him in such a state. What if he'd done more harm than good by turning Alan over onto his back?

Before he could collect his thoughts and decide on a course of action, a voice sounded from the room beyond the bathroom. "Virgil, what's wrong?"

Virgil had never been so relieved to hear his younger brother's voice. "Gordon, oh thank God! It's Alan – he's unconscious."

"_What_?" There was the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps and then a sharp intake of breath when Gordon barrelled into the bathroom and spotted Alan lying on the floor.

"What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know!" Virgil snapped, fear driving his words as he twisted to stare up at his brother. "I just came in here to get him for breakfast and I found him like this! And now I can't get him to wake up! Gordon – you _have_ to get dad."

Gordon stared at Virgil, visibly torn between wanting to stay with his brother and obeying Virgil's order. Then he nodded curtly and hurried out of the room. Virgil heard him shouting along the corridor as he turned back to Alan.

Those agonising minutes before Gordon returned with help were the longest of Virgil's life. With no knowledge of what was wrong with Alan, there was little he could do. He was forced to sit limply beside his brother, intermittently checking Alan's pulse, stroking the hair back from his forehead and pleading with him to wake up. It was torture; he hated feeling so useless.

God, _why_ hadn't he done something about Alan? He'd noticed how pale his little brother had been back at the hospital – and there had even been signs that something was wrong with him out on the rescue. But every time Virgil had decided to do something about it, or speak to Alan, something else had happened that had seemed much more important at the time. And then there had been Scott and Gordon, and Alan had _seemed_ fine on the surface …

_But he wasn't fine, was he_? an insidious little voice inside Virgil's mind mocked him. _There was something seriously wrong and _you_ did nothing about it!_ _You couldn't even spare him the time to make sure he got his injuries properly checked out!_

The guilt grew inside Virgil until he could barely stand it. It was only the return of Gordon, along with their father and Brains that forestalled his spiral into self-recrimination and forced him to assume the professionalism that was so ingrained in his bones from his time with International Rescue.

"Virgil, what happened?" His dad was across the outer room and into the bathroom in three quick strides. As he knelt down by Alan's side, Jeff's face was taught with worry. On the other side of him, Brains began checking Alan's pulse and other vital statistics.

"I'm not sure," he replied as calmly as he could, watching distractedly as Brains felt for Alan's pulse, muttering to himself as he did so. "You wanted someone to get him up … but then he wasn't in his bed, so I came in here and he was just … he was just _lying_ there on the floor. And when I tried to wake him I couldn't. I …" Virgil flushed with shame. "I thought something was wrong with him yesterday. He seemed – I should have said something but I … I was so worried about Scott and …" His father's comforting arm touched his shoulder as Virgil's words failed him.

Brains was busy entering a series of numbers into his hand-held data pad – and he was frowning. Jeff picked up on the scientist's expression immediately. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I'm not a h-hu-hu-hun completely sure, Mr Tracy."

"Can't you give us _some _idea?"

"Well … there's a w-w-wo-wou-woun bump on the back of his head that m-m-m-mi-mig could have something to d-do with it. I'll need to run more tests to be c-ce-ce-cer sure."

"Are we safe to move him?"

"I-I believe so, Mr Tracy. We should put him in the m-m-me-med-med infirmary. I can monitor him more e-e-ea-easi better there."

"Do it." Jeff took a deep breath and visibly composed himself. It was something his sons had seen him do countless times when his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. He stood up, although his eyes remained fixed on Alan. "Gordon – I want you to let Scott and John know what's happened. Virgil, can you tell Fermat and Tin-Tin?"

"But I want to stay with Alan!" Gordon complained.

"But Dad, who's going to carry Alan?" Virgil asked at the same time.

"_I'll _carry your brother," Jeff replied in a tone that brooked no arguments. "_You'll _do as I asked."

Gordon looked as if he was going to protest again but Virgil simply nodded. Taking Gordon's good arm, he pulled his brother out of Alan's rooms. Once they were back in the corridor he released Gordon but instead of stalking off as he had expected, Gordon raised his eyes slowly and looked at Virgil.

"He's going to be okay, isn't he?"

It had been a long time since Virgil had heard the cocky, self-assured Gordon sounding so frightened.

"Yeah," he said, drawing Gordon into a reassuring hug, "he'll be fine. It's Alan remember? He's a fighter."

Gordon nodded into his shoulder.

"He'll be fine," Virgil repeated – and hoped with all his being that it wasn't a lie.


	10. Chapter Ten: Downward Spiral

**Chapter Ten: Downward Spiral**

Ration bars, John Tracy decided, were disgusting. There was no two ways about it – whoever had designed them had a sadistic mind. Only a truly evil genius could have manufactured a bar that had the texture of a hairy carpet, the smell of sawdust and the taste of dried cardboard all in one.

Of course, if it wasn't for Alan then his taste buds wouldn't have been complaining so much and he could have been tucking into something that was actually edible. Unfortunately, during his little brother's latest stint up in Thunderbird 5, Alan had – in true Alan fashion – managed to completely destroy the microwave. To make things even worse, he hadn't even told anyone about it and so John had simply wandered into the tiny kitchenette one day to find that his microwave had mysteriously vanished. By this time Alan had been safely back down on terra firma and out of John's reach – as had a new microwave. An electronics whiz John might have been, but no one could mend something that now resembled a melted piece of modern art.

At least there hadn't been any fresh rescue calls to compound John's misery. With both Gordon and Scott out of action, International Rescue would be hard pushed if their services were called upon. It had been a long time since they'd been two members down and although they now had Alan, Tin-Tin and Fermat to make up the numbers, John couldn't help feeling slightly uneasy.

As if on cue, the control panel of the great space station began to flash. Fearing the worst, John swallowed his last mouthful of ration bar and hurried over to the console, but he quickly relaxed when he realised the call to the station originated from Tracy Island rather than the scene of an accident. It was probably his dad, after a status-update.

John sunk into his chair and patched the connection through. "Tracy Island from Thunderbird 5."

"_John_?"

The familiar voice of his water-loving brother filled the airwaves and John found himself smiling as Gordon's face coalesced on the screen in front of him. "Who else would it be?" he returned jokingly.

Gordon didn't respond and as John looked more closely at his image he realised that his younger brother's face was drawn and pale. And perhaps more tellingly, he was staring down into his lap and not meeting John's eyes.

In that instant, John knew this wasn't simply a pleasure-call. "Something's wrong." Gordon still didn't respond. John leaned forward in his chair, his alarm growing. "Gordy, what is it?"

"_It's Alan_," his brother finally responded.

A million insidious thoughts flashed through John's mind as he stared at his younger brother. "What happened?"

"_We don't know. He'd already gone to bed when the rest of us got back last night, and then this morning, Dad sent Virgil to wake him up …_" There was a haunted look in Gordon's eyes. "_He was just lying there, Johnny, on the floor. Like he was sleeping or something – 'cept he was still in his uniform and there was all this blood –_"

"Gordon!" John cut his younger brother off frantically. "What's wrong with Alan?"

Gordon blinked rapidly and then visibly composed himself. "_We're not sure. Tin-Tin mentioned something about a knock on the head yesterday, but none of us thought it was anything serious. But then I found him lying on the floor …_"

"What did Brains say?"

"_I_ -"

"_Gordon_!" The call came from somewhere off-screen but before John could set about identifying it, the voice was joined by a number of others. Gordon shot a startled look over his shoulder and then ran out of the edge of the vid-screen's field. Frustratingly, John was left looking at his own portrait on the wall of the command centre as he struggled to work out what was going on.

"_Virg, what are you – ?_"

"_Dad's taking Alan._"

"_What? Wait a minute –_"

"_It's that b-ba-ba_ serious?"

"_Yeah. They're leaving now._"

"_Oh G-God._"

"_I want to go with them._"

"_You can't –"_

"_Don't tell me what to do!_"

"_Gordon –_"

"_Alright, that's _enough!"

There was no way that John could mistake _that_ voice. Sure enough, a few moments later, the familiar face of Jeff Tracy appeared on the vid-screen.

"Dad – what the hell is going on?"

Jeff ran a hand through his greying hair and John was struck by how incredibly exhausted his father looked. "_I'm taking your brother to the mainland_."

He didn't say which brother and he didn't specify the reason for the visit, but then after what Gordon had revealed, he didn't need to. There would be only one explanation for his father's actions – Alan's condition was a lot worse than everyone had first thought.

John felt physically sick at the news. The rescue had been bad enough; Scott and Gordon's injuries had been bad enough, but now Alan as well? Only long experience kept his voice level and his placid as he said, "What do you want me to do?"

"_Put the station on autopilot. I'm sending Virgil to pick you up._"

"Dad, are you sure that's a wise move?" John could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times such a command had been issued in the past. No wait, he could count on the _finger_ of one hand.

"_With Scott and Gordon out of action, we need you down here_," his father replied curtly. "_If another rescue should come in _–"

_Oh, please God don't let that happen_, John thought rather desperately. _Right now I don't think we could handle it_.

"FAB," he said aloud. "I'll expect Virgil in a couple of hours then."

"_Thanks, son_." His father turned to go.

"Oh and Dad?" Jeff looked back over his shoulder. John met his gaze solemnly. "Look after Alan."

* * *

After Gordon's display over breakfast, Tin-Tin had been in no mood for any further company that morning. Slipping out of the lounge, she had dressed quickly and then retreated outside to the seclusion of the rock overlooking the beach. Although she'd long since missed the spectacular sunrise, there was still something so peaceful and calming about the azure waters of the Pacific lapping gently against the golden sands of the island.

Now, staring down at the deserted stretch of beach, Tin-Tin found her thoughts inevitably turning to Alan. Had it really only been the day before that she had sat in the same spot, watching him pace back and forth? So much had happened over the last twenty-four hours … it almost seemed like a lifetime had passed. And not just because of the rescue, but thanks to the eternal problem that was her relationship with Alan Tracy.

Before the rescue everything had been fairly well structured in her mind. She'd been upset of course, and confused, but then there'd also been that burning sense of righteous anger – that at the end of it all, it had all been _his_ fault and if only _he_ hadn't done – if only _he_ hadn't tried to kiss her –

And now … now everything had changed. Seeing him lying there on the ground, with all that blood on his face – it had abruptly reminded Tin-Tin of the inescapable mortality of the members of International Rescue. Alan could have _died_. The last memory he could have had of her was her cold, frigid anger – and her rejection.

It had seemed ironic to Tin-Tin that it had taken a near-death experience to put things into perspective. With everything else that had happened, her own petty, teenage problems hardly seemed important anymore. Life was already full of so many uncertainties, was it really her place to make things that much more complicated?

_No_, Tin-Tin decided reluctantly, as she watched a small bird hop across the warm sand, _perhaps not. _Perhaps it was time she and Alan made their peace …

And so, rising to her feet, Tin-Tin brushed the dirt off her knees and started back to the house with a determined spring in her step. She _would_ talk to Alan – it was about time they sorted everything out. After all, she couldn't go on avoiding him forever … and she wasn't even sure she wanted to.

The Tracy villa emerged out of the surrounding jungle, her twin pools sparkling in the sun. Unusually for that time in the morning, the patio area was deserted and the waters of the pool were undisturbed. Tin-Tin chewed on her lip as she neared but before she could consider the implications of her discovery, she was distracted by the familiar roaring sound of jet engines.

Tin-Tin looked towards the source of the noise, her stomach fluttering uncomfortably. Another mission, so soon after the disaster at the Welsh mine? With Scott and Gordon out of action, that would leave Virgil and Alan to take the brunt of the work. It was too much to ask of them – and wait … why hadn't her watch gone off?

While it wasn't as common for Tin-Tin to be included in rescues as the Tracy brothers, at a time such as this there would have be _no way_ that she wouldn't have been pulled in to help.

Tin-Tin frowned and shaded her eyes against the morning sun. As she watched, a dark shape detached itself from the island's hanger and lifted off into the air. Rising rapidly, it streaked away from the villa with an urgency usually attributed to Thunderbird 1. It was not, however, Thunderbird 1 or in fact any of the Thunderbirds. As it passed overhead Tin-Tin recognised the familiar markings of that of Tracy One, Mr Tracy's private jet.

For Tracy One to leave the island wasn't an unusual occurrence. After all, Jeff Tracy _was_ the head of a multimillion dollar corporation. Beyond that even the gentle-hearted Tin-Tin had to admit that Mr Tracy was a workaholic. How many times had she stood in a similar position and watched Tracy One ghost out of the hanger, taking Mr Tracy off to Manhattan for one business meeting after another? Sometimes weeks went by without him returning to the island – times at which Gordon and Alan famously rejoiced in the freedom that their father's absence created.

All these thoughts spiralled around in Tin-Tin's head. They were perfectly logical, she told herself firmly. Mr Tracy, a business meeting, Tracy One … and yet … and yet there was just something about the whole situation that made Tin-Tin feel very nervous.

Turning on her heel, she hurried across the sun-warmed tiles of the patio and ducked inside the Tracy villa. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the change of light and then was about to head in search of her parents when the sounds of raised voices caught her attention.

An argument.

Tin-Tin pursed her lips. It wasn't even past lunchtime yet and already tempers were flaring. In the Tracy household that normally meant one thing: Alan was clashing with his father again.

_So maybe it wasn't Jeff that had taken Tracy One from the hanger so swiftly …?_

In general Tin-Tin respected the privacy of each and every person on Tracy Island and certainly didn't make a habit of sticking her nose into other people's business. Today however, she decided that she was sick of forming questions she didn't have the answers to and therefore she purposefully headed towards the shouting.

One thing quickly became abundantly clear: Alan was not part of the argument. After spending so many years in his company – and accidentally overhearing a number of heated exchanges between him and various family members – Tin-Tin could have picked out Alan's voice anywhere. And it was neither of the ones raised in anger now.

Nor was Jeff Tracy's. Mr Tracy's bass voice was very distinctive and besides, arguments with Jeff always had a sense of structure about them – even when they were with such an erratic person as Alan.

Tin-Tin rounded the corner of the corridor that lead to the command centre, currently in the guise of Jeff Tracy's office, and pulled up short. The doors of the room were wide open – and Fermat was standing on the threshold, his back to her. She could tell from her friend's hunched posture that he was uncomfortable about something and as she hesitantly stepped closer, she could understand why.

Inside the room were Gordon and Virgil … and they were yelling at each other, looking as angry as Tin-Tin had ever seen them.

" – don't understand! What difference would I make?"

"You're needed here. Dammit Gordon, I don't have time for this."

"_No_, I'm needed on that plane. We're _all _needed on that plane!"

"And what about International Rescue? What about the millions of people who'll be left helpless if we all just run off and do what we want –"

"_Screw International Rescue!_" Gordon shouted, waving his good arm wildly. "He's our _brother_, Virgil – doesn't that mean _anything_ to you?"

He seemed to realise instantly that he had gone too far. In an attempt at backtracking, Gordon reached out and touched his brother's shoulder. Virgil shrugged him off.

"It means _everything_ to me," he said, his voice so soft that Tin-Tin strained to hear it. "Don't you think I want to go with them to the mainland? Do you think I want to sit here, feeling so damn helpless? I knew – _I knew_ something was wrong with him yesterday, but I didn't do anything about it and now he's on his way to hospital –"

Gordon stared at him, all the anger visibly draining out of his body. "What are you talking about?"

"He had a head injury – Jesus, Gordon, there was blood all over his face! But he said he was fine, and I was so worried about you and Scott –" Virgil broke off at the horrified gasp that sounded from the corridor beyond the room.

Tin-Tin clapped her shaking hands over her mouth. Gordon, Virgil and Fermat all turned around to see where the noise had come from but she barely noticed them.

Alan … they were talking about Alan.

Suddenly, startlingly, everything fell into place and Tin-Tin knew why it was that Tracy One had torn out of the hanger with such urgency.

Something was seriously wrong with Alan.

Tin-Tin felt her heart stop.

* * *

Jeff Tracy.

_The _Jeff Tracy.

_The _Jeff Tracy – the man who had been to the moon. The man who had _money._

The influential, sharp-talking workaholic.

It wasn't often that Jeff cashed in on the doors that his name opened for him – in fact, he usually made a point of ignoring such offers. He'd been raised to make his own way in the world, regardless of who he was and what he had done.

And yet … sometimes it didn't hurt to be a world-famous multimillionaire. Being 'Jeff Tracy' meant that not only did he possess one of the fastest commercial planes to transport him and his son to the mainland, but he was also able to call ahead to Auckland City Hospital and make arrangements for Alan's arrival.

So it was that when he and Brains touched down at Auckland International Airport, there was already an emergency helicopter and a team of medical staff waiting for them. The twenty-mile journey north to the hospital passed by in a blur and before Jeff knew it, the helicopter had landed and Alan was being carefully loaded onto a gurney amidst a cacophony of shouted instructions.

_"– What's his status? –_"

"–_Patient is unresponsive and comatose. Pupils are unequal and sluggish. GCS score is three. BP is elevated, respirations are slightly irregular and pulse rate has decreased during transportation–_"

"– _Okay, let's get him inside. Prep Trauma One–_"

Jeff followed anxiously as assorted medical staff moved with his son down a warren of winding hospital corridors. It was only once they reached a pair of double doors outside of the trauma rooms that they seemed to remember him. As he was about to push through into the room, one of the harried-looking nurses stepped forward and blocked his path.

"You can't go in there, sir."

"But my son –"

"I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to wait outside." The door swung shut in his face.

Jeff stood motionless in the corridor. Beyond the double doors he could just make out the still form of his son lying on the exam table. A flurry of doctors and nurses moved about him, their moves so practiced and perfected that they appeared to be participating in some kind of elaborate dance. A nurse checked the heart monitor while a doctor pressed his stethoscope against Alan's chest. The pose was held for a breath and then they were moving again, surging about the table as they fought to save his son's life.

A hand touched Jeff's shoulder; he glanced across to find Brains standing beside him.

"It's going to be o-o-ok-oka _alright_, Mr Tracy," the scientist assured him softly. "Now, w-why don't we get some c-co-co-cof-coff _caffeinated beverages_ while we wait?"

"I'm not thirsty," Jeff replied automatically, his eyes once again fixed on the hive of activity in the trauma room.

"Or w-we could just s-sit down … somewhere …"

Jeff followed him across to a small seating area and sat, without once taking his eyes away from the movements inside the trauma room.

There was a moment of awkward silence and then Brains cleared his throat. "Y-you know, Mr Tracy, if know how I would f-feel if it was my s-s-so _Fermat_. If you want to t-talk –"

"You should get a drink, Brains. We don't know how long we're going to be waiting here."

There was a surprised pause. "If – if you're s-s-su-su _certain_, M-Mr Tracy?"

"Go on."

Brains rose and drew his coat about himself nervously. "I'll be as q-qu _fast_ as I can."

Jeff didn't reply and after a few moments, he heard the scientist walk away. Once Brains had rounded the corner, he blew out an explosive breath of relief. As much as he appreciated his friend's concern, it was actually the last thing he wanted at that moment.

The activity beyond the doors continued but Jeff found he could no longer concentrate. Slumping back in his chair, he buried his head in his hands, closed his eyes and wished that he could just wake up from this nightmare.

"Mr Tracy?"

Jeff opened his eyes and raised his head sluggishly. Time had passed, he was certain of that, but what he wasn't certain about was how much. The people hurrying along the corridor were the same but inside the trauma room, the number of doctors and nurses tending to Alan had diminished, and the sense of urgency that had marked their earlier movements was gone.

A swarthy woman in a white coat was standing in front of him. With her dark eyes, hair and skin she was unmistakably Maori and he recognised her as one of the doctors who had initially been examining Alan.

"Mr Tracy, I'm Doctor Tamati Makura."

_Doctor Makura … _the name was familiar – she was the doctor he had spoken to during the flight. Jeff straightened and briefly shook the doctor's proffered hand. "How's my son?"

Doctor Makura clasped her hands in front of her. There was a tired look of sympathy on her face and Jeff got the impression that Tamati Makura was a woman who had too many years' experience at presenting bad news.

"Mr Tracy, I'm not going to lie to you. Although we've managed to stabilise him, Alan's condition remains very serious. He shows evidence of a skull fracture … but his subsequent physical deterioration, along with our own examinations, have suggested that we are dealing with something more than just a break in the bone."

Jeff was silent for a moment as he tried to take in the doctor's words. "What are you saying?"

"We believe Alan has a serious concussion – which is when the brain bangs against the inside of the skull. This can cause not only bruising and swelling … but also bleeding within the brain itself."

_A subdural hematoma._ The words swam up out of Jeff's mind – an unconscious salute to NASA's medical training – and he felt sickened. A myriad of questions spun around in his mind – _how bad is it? Is he going to die? What do you mean by bleeding in the brain?_ – but the one that came out of his mouth was, "Can I see my son?"

"Well, we're sending Alan up for an emergency MRI scan now and I've arranged for a neuro consult when he returns. Perhaps after that …"

"Please." It wasn't a word Jeff Tracy often used, and neither was the pleading tone in his voice. "Please let me see my son."

Doctor Makura regarded him closely. "Mr Tracy, you must understand that it could be very distressing for you to see your son at this time. He is connected to a number of machines and we were forced to intubate –"

"Doctor Makura, _let me see my son_."

The woman pursed her lips and then nodded shortly. "One minute." Stepping around Jeff, she held open the door to the trauma room.

The two nurses still in the room looked around curiously as Jeff entered, but he ignored them. The doctor stepped quickly aside as he rushed forward to Alan's side and stared heartbrokenly down at his youngest child.

Alan looked terrible. Dark rings under his eyes stood out against his white, almost translucent skin and if it hadn't been for the constant beeping of the cardiac monitor, Jeff would have thought he was dead. Clamps were attached to his fingers; slender, transparent tubes twined about his body and perhaps most frightening of all, a tube had been inserted into his throat. It was connected up to a ventilator that hummed quietly in the corner, filling his lungs with oxygen and keeping him alive.

"Oh, Alan …" he whispered brokenly, reaching out and taking his son's limp hand in his. "Alan – Alan, I love you." For once it didn't matter to him that he had an audience for his show of affection. "Alan, you _have _to get better, do you hear me? What's Scott going to say if you just give up? He'd be so disappointed. And Virgil – he'll never get to show you that flying trick he promised to. Gordon … do you think Gordon would ever let you live it down? And what about John – you don't want him to come back down all this way for nothing, do you?"

The ventilator hummed, the cardiac monitor beeped but Alan was silent.

A hand touched Jeff's shoulder. It was Doctor Makura. "I'm sorry Mr Tracy, but we have to take Alan upstairs now."

Jeff opened his mouth to argue but knew any protests would be useless. Instead, he gave Alan's still hand one last squeeze and unwillingly stepped backwards as Doctor Makura and her colleagues loaded various pieces of portable equipment onto the gurney and then wheeled Alan from the trauma room and out of sight.


	11. Chapter Eleven: Placing the Blame

**Chapter Eleven: Placing the Blame**

Silence was a rare commodity in the Tracy household. With five boisterous young men and their millionaire father – not to mention the Hackenbacker and Kyrano families – there had been few times since the island had earned the name 'Tracy' that utter silence had reigned. Even back before International Rescue had been established, the island had only been a peaceful, quiet haven when the five Tracy sons had been at their respective schools and universities.

At this moment however, one room on the island was far from unoccupied. The multi-purpose breakfast and lounge room that overlooked the twin pools of the villa was playing host to four of the island denizens. Through the huge glass windows the sunset was truly spectacular but despite the room's occupants, no one was paying the slightest attention.

Scott Tracy was sprawled uncomfortably on the sofa. His plastered leg was elevated on a pile of cushions and the crutches the Welsh Hospital had provided for him were lying on the floor.

Sitting opposite him was his younger brother Gordon. Well, _sitting_ was a rather loose term; Gordon was shifting so often it looked like he was doing some kind of bizarre dance. The more tolerant side of Scott recognised that out of all of his brothers, Gordon was the closest to Alan. Unfortunately, Gordon had also found an old-fashioned ballpoint pen from somewhere and after an hour or more of constant clicking, Scott was on edge.

"Do you have to do that?" he growled abruptly.

Gordon looked up at him, his face curiously blank. "Do what?"

"Click the pen."

Gordon looked down at the pen in his hand as if seeing it for the first time. Then he threw it onto the sofa beside him and stared down at his empty hand.

After a few moments of tense silence, the shifting started again. Every time Gordon moved, the coach creaked unpleasantly. Scott gritted his teeth as he felt his temper rising rapidly to the surface. Why did Gordon always have to be so incredibly irritating? Couldn't he see that he wasn't helping the situation?

_Creak, creak, creak._

Scott couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer. "For God's sake Gordon, can you just _sit still_?"

This time when Gordon looked up, his face was marked by anger. "Anything else you want me to do, Scott? Get you a soda? Peel you a bloody grape?"

Scott was unaccustomed to hearing such venom in his younger brother's voice. "Hey, I just meant –"

"You don't have a monopoly on worrying, you know. So stop telling me what to do. You're not my Field Commander now."

Bad-temper and Gordon were not normally two things that Scott though of in the same sentence. Bad-temper and_ Alan _however … he shoved that tendril of thought aside swiftly. It would do none of them any good of he let his fear about his little brother's condition overwhelm him. With their dad away everyone would look to him for some kind of guidance – broken leg or no broken leg. And if there was one time you don't want to let Jeff Tracy down, it was when one of his sons was hurt or in danger.

_Alan's in both …_

Scott took a deep breath. As aggravating as Gordon was being, the last thing anyone needed right now was for World War III to break out in the middle of the living room.

"Has there been any news?"

Whatever reply Scott might have made was stifled when Tin-Tin stepped into the room, Fermat hurrying after her. Inwardly Scott blessed Tin-Tin's intervention, despite the fact that it brought two more anxious people into an already volatile situation. The Malaysian girl could always be counted on to keep her head in difficult circumstances – maybe she could help him keep a handle on Gordon.

"Nothing," Scott replied as Fermat perched at a stool by the counter and Tin-Tin hovered beside him. Her dark eyes widened at his response and for a moment she looked stricken.

Fermat must have caught the look because he reached out and awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. "N-No news is g-good news," he ventured.

"No news, is no news," Gordon contradicted flatly, not even looking up.

Fermat and Scott shared an awkward glance. Tin-Tin barely seemed to notice. Wrapping her arms around herself, she wandered across the room to the windows and stared out at the dying sun. Scott watched her movements, his worry escalating. Although he couldn't see her face, the muscles in her back were tense and her arms were shaking. All thoughts of having an ally in the girl faded; she seemed to be taking it even harder than Gordon, which was a little surprising when you considered the volatile nature of Alan and Tin-Tin's relationship. Most of the time they didn't appear to even like each other.

"How long does it take to run a couple of tests?"

Gordon was running his mouth off again. His tone was belligerent and Scott felt his tenuous control over his temper slipping.

"H-head injuries are co-com-com-com _serious_. They have t-to run lots of t-t-tests."

The look Gordon gave Fermat was scathing. "It was a rhetorical question!"

As the younger boy's cheeks flamed, Scott grip on his temper began to fail. No matter the current situation and the stress they were all under, Gordon's behaviour was _way_ out of line.

"Alright Gordon, that's enough."

"Get off my back, Scott."

"Then stop acting like such a jerk. I _know_ you're worried about Alan – we all are! – but that doesn't give you the right to start taking it out on other people."

There was a strained silence. At the breakfast bar, Fermat looked mortified to be caught in the centre of the argument. Over by the window, Tin-Tin was still looking out at the sunset. Gordon was staring at the floor. Watching him, Scott wondered just what was going through his little brother's head to make him act so irrationally. What Scott had said was true – they were all worried sick about Alan – but surely Gordon knew his behaviour wasn't helping anyone? He was twenty-one for God's sake – not twelve!

Finally, Gordon raised his head. "Screw you, Scott," he said quietly.

Scott was shocked. "What did you say?"

"You heard me."

Scott stared at his brother in disbelief. Any residual sympathy he had been feeling for Gordon rapidly gave way to anger. "What the hell is _wrong_ with you?"

Gordon's laugh was short and ugly. "What's wrong with me? _Hello?_ We're all trapped on this damn island while our little brother lies unconscious in a hospital bed! What the hell do you _think_ is wrong with me? I'm sick of being left out of the loop – Alan could have _died _for all we know!"

"That's _enough_!" Scott wished bitterly that his leg wasn't broken and that then he could use his superior height to make Gordon back down. It was a tactic that had worked well when they had been children – but one he'd rarely had to use against _this_ brother. "You are _way_ out of line, Gordon."

"Why? You think everyone else in this room's not thinking the same thing? They are. The only difference is, I'm tired of keeping my mouth shut."

"This is not the time or the place –"

"Never supposed to talk about our emotions, are we Scott? Never supposed to admit to things. Keep quiet and sweep everything under the carpet – _that's the Tracy way_!"

Scott's temper snapped completely. "You want me to say I'm worried about Alan? You want me to admit I'm scared he's not going to be able to come back from this? _Fine_. I'm scared. I'm upset. And I hate feeling so helpless. But, Gordon, there's nothing we can do right now –"

"Except sit around like good little children and think happy, healing thoughts?"

"It can't be any worse than shooting your mouth off and upsetting everyone else!"

"What, so I'm not allowed to express an _opinion_ now? Gee and here I was thinking we lived in a democracy."

"_Stop it! Just stop it!_"

He'd got so wrapped up in the argument with Gordon that Scott had almost forgotten the other two people in the room. Fermat was still hovering by the kitchen, his head darting back and forth between Scott and Gordon like a referee in a tennis match. However it was Tin-Tin who really caught Scott's attention. She'd whirled around from the window, her hands clenched in front of her. They were shaking visibly and her knuckles were white with tension.

Scott was so startled by her unusual outburst that for a moment he just stared at her. While Tin-Tin might occasionally blow up at Alan, or even Gordon, she'd never looked at him like that before. In fact, in all the time he'd known her, Scott had _never_ seen her looking so utterly devastated as she did now. Once again he got the uncomfortable feeling that he was missing something.

Gordon seemed as taken aback as Scott. "Tin-Tin," he began.

"_No_!" She turned on him like a feral tiger, her dark eyes glittering furiously. "Just – just don't say anything else. Don't you think you've both done enough already? All this – this _senseless _arguing … yelling at each other … do you _really_ think any of it is helping? It's not. It's just making everything ten times harder!"

"Tin-Tin –" It was Scott's turn to try and cut her off but like Gordon, she didn't give him the chance.

"No – I don't want to hear it!" Tin-Tin took a step forward, hugging her trembling arms about her waist. She was blinking furiously. "I can't believe you would act like this after everything that's happened. You're _supposed_ to be the ones that hold everything together. You're_ supposed_ to be adults. You're the _Thunderbirds _for God's sake, not a pair of – a pair of bickering ten year olds! Honestly, you're acting just as immature as you're always claiming Alan is …" Her voice broke and she looked down at the ground. Beneath her curtain of dark hair, Scott couldn't see her face but from the choked note in her voice he guessed that she was crying. "I'm sorry," she whispered suddenly, swaying slightly. "I shouldn't have – I can't do this right now."

And before anyone could say anything else, Tin-Tin weaved through the sofas and fled the room.

Scott stared after her in shock. Fermat wavered for a few seconds and then followed her. Gordon looked sideways at Scott, his expression faintly guilty but when his older brother met his gaze, his face hardened again.

* * *

Waiting was not one of Jeff Tracy's strong points. He was a man of action. He made phone calls; he wrote reports; he made decisions and then passed them onto his subordinates who carried them out. That was how he had built Tracy Enterprises up from a small farm in Kansas to a billion dollar company. That was how he had conceived and established International Rescue.

Contrary to the opinion of those who knew he had his own private island, he was _not_ a man of leisure. Therefore sitting on one of the hospital's horribly uncomfortable plastic chairs and awaiting word of his son's condition was one of the nearest things to torture that he'd ever experienced.

The urge to jump up and grill each passing staff member was growing stronger with each minute that ticked by. Doctor Makura, hadn't returned after taking Alan upstairs and Jeff was rapidly reaching the end of his patience.

The voice came as if on cue.

"Mr Tracy?"

Jeff turned to see the woman herself approaching, as if his thoughts had summoned. She was accompanied by a tall, thin man with greying hair. By the white coat and medical chart this man was sporting, Jeff assumed that he was another doctor of some kind, although not one that had worked on Alan in the Trauma Room.

"Mr Tracy, this is Doctor Michael Gibson. He's Alan's neurologist."

Jeff shook the older man's hand distractedly. Doctor Gibson had a firm grip and the lines on his face spoke of his experience, but he lacked the kindly aura that Tamati Makura projected.

"I asked him to come down and speak to you regarding Alan's condition," Doctor Makura continued.

Jeff frowned; her words weren't very reassuring.

"Why don't we all sit down?" Doctor Gibson suggested. He led Jeff over to a line of nearby chairs and the doctors sat, one either side of him. Gibson glanced down at the chart in his hands before he turned back to Jeff.

"As you know, Mr Tracy, we took your son for an MRI scan early today. Now the results of this scan show what we had suspected: Alan has a subdural hematoma – bleeding within his brain."

Jeff stiffened and though he longed to demand what the doctors were going to do about Alan's condition, he held his tongue and forced himself to listen to the rest of Doctor Gibson's explanation.

"Once we had identified your son's condition, we took him to the OR and inserted an ICP Monitor. This allows us to keep track of Alan's intracranial pressure and move to prevent further brain damage should the pressure become to great."

The words struck Jeff like a blow in the gut and he could keep silent no longer. "_Further _brain damage? What are you telling me, Doctor?"

Gibson put Alan's chart down in his lap and folded his hands on top of it. The look he fixed Jeff with was very direct. "Mr Tracy, although we will not be able to tell for certain until Alan wakes up, there is a possibility that he has suffered some degree of brain damage from the head injury he sustained."

"How strong a possibility?"

"At this moment in time it is impossible to say. I'm afraid there's simply no way of telling until your son awakens from his coma."

The words seem to reach Jeff's ears from a great distance away. His eyes noted that both doctors were looking at him sympathetically but all his mind could focus on were the two words he'd not even entertained before Doctor Gibson had raised them.

_Brain damage. _His son – his youngest child – could have brain damage.

It was almost too much for him to take in and the sheer unfairness of it all threatened to overwhelm him. Alan was only eighteen years old. He had only recently become a fully-fledged member of International Rescue. He had so much potential; so many lives to save. He was supposed to have years ahead of him. And now a sentence hung over his head that could change his life forever.

That could change _all_ of their lives forever.

* * *

There was a moment of silence after Tin-Tin ran out of the room and then all hell broke loose.

"Now look what you've done!" Scott shouted, knowing that blaming Gordon was rather illogical but for once allowing his emotions to overwhelm his judgement.

"Me? Oh I'm sorry – was I having that argument with myself?" The expression on Gordon's face was ugly. "Or is this your guilty conscience lashing out?"

Scott stiffened. "Shut up, Gordon. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I? Isn't that what you always do in this kind of situation? Even when what happened had _nothing_ to do with you, somehow it always comes around to being Scott's fault!"

If it hadn't been for the fact that the whole of his right leg was encased in plaster, Scott would have hit his brother at that point. It wasn't just Gordon's words that were so disturbing – _and so unerringly accurate _– it was the bitter, twisted, almost _tortured_ expression on his little brother's face. If he hadn't been so angry, he probably would have realised that Gordon's words could easily have been self-prophetic, but he wasn't really looking to empathise with his brother at that moment.

"I don't have to sit around here and listen to this."

"What are you going to do?" Gordon sneered. "Run away?"

It was such a thoughtless comment that it actually hurt Scott more than most of Gordon's earlier ranting. In any normal context, there would have been a mischievous grin on his younger brother's face, a teasing lilt in his tone. Now there was just spite.

He stared his brother down and felt a surge of satisfaction when Gordon looked away first. "You're damn lucky Dad isn't here to hear this or you'd be looking at spending the next five years up on Thunderbird 5." Scott's voice was low and held an edge of menace. Broken leg or not, _he _was the oldest one here. _He _was the Field Commander of International Rescue and hewasn't going to let Gordon take out his frustration and helplessness over Alan on him any longer.

"That'd be right," Gordon retorted disgustedly. "Pack the troubled Tracy sons off to the four corners of the world – that'll sort all their problems out!"

Scott opened his mouth to growl back but paused as his brother's words fully registered. What the hell did Gordon mean by _that_? Not for the first time, Scott wished he could see into his brother's mind and find out what was going on in there. Gordon's reaction was so wildly out of character that it surely had to be something more than simply worry over Alan's condition.

He decided to try one more time. "What are you talking about Gordon?"

Gordon shifted his dislocated shoulder uncomfortably but didn't speak. His sudden silence was more disturbing than his angry torrents of moments before.

"Gordon?"

"Has there been any news?"

For the second time within ten minutes, Scott and Gordon's argument was interrupted by the worried question. Scott turned to tell Tin-Tin that he would let her know when they had been contacted from the hospital, but stopped when he realised that it wasn't the Malaysian girl who had spoken.

"Virgil!"

His chestnut-haired brother strode into the room, still in his flight uniform. Scott struggled into a more upright seating position and even Gordon looked up.

"I didn't hear you come back."

Virgil cocked his eyebrow. "How could you have missed that?" He looked between them, suspicion dawning over his face. "What's going on?"

"Where's John?" Scott bypassed the question quickly.

"Here."

Over Virgil's shoulder, Scott saw John leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded over his chest. Like Virgil he was still wearing his uniform but that was where the similarities ended. Where Virgil looked visibly anxious, John's face was carefully blank and he seemed completely calm. Only someone who knew him as well as Scott did would recognise the minute signs of tension that showed that John was as worried about their youngest brother as all the other Tracy's in the room.

His tone betrayed no hint of this as he repeated Virgil's question. "Has there been any news?"

"Nothing," Gordon answered before Scott could. "Nothing, nothing, nothing, _nothing_."

Virgil gave Scott a look that clearly said he wanted an explanation. When none were forthcoming, he sighed and sank down on the sofa next to Gordon. Behind them, John pushed away from the doorway and crossed the room. Scott shifted his position on the sofa to give his brother room to sit down but John shook his head and opted for pulling a chair over instead.

An uncomfortable silence fell. Virgil was still looking from Scott to Gordon and back again, a slight frown creasing his forehead. John appeared to be gazing out of the window, lost in a world of his own. Gordon had picked up the pen again, although this time he was twirling it between his fingers rather than clicking it on and off. Scott watched all of them in turn and tried not to think about how much John reminded him of Alan.

_Alan … __We're all probably thinking about him in one way or another_, Scott thought, his gaze drifting about the room. _But we won't talk about it because that makes it too real …_

Maybe it would be better if they actually did. What was it that Gordon had said? _"Never supposed to talk about our emotions, are we Scott? Never supposed to admit to things. Keep quiet and sweep everything under the carpet – that's the Tracy way!"_

Even thought the comment had been shouted in anger, his younger brother had shown unusual insight. Living in the Tracy family _was_ like that – although most of the time it didn't matter. It was only at times such as this that Scott began to wish their father hadn't instilled such a stoic attitude in his sons. It made the waiting that much more unbearable.

When the sharp chiming of the vid-phone finally broke the silence, it made them all jump. Virgil, being the closest, scrammed across to the room and almost ripped the receiver from its base.

"Dad?"

There was a moment of silence and then Virgil's face drained of all colour.


	12. Chapter Twelve: Words I Wish I'd Said

**Chapter Twelve: The Words I Wish I'd Said**

Scott hated the atmosphere in hospitals. The constant undulating tension made his skin crawl and set his nerves on edge. The restless uncertainty gnawed unrelentingly at him and if there was one thing that Scott couldn't stand it was uncertainty. Losing control, not being in charge … he wasn't accustomed to feeling as helpless as he always did when he stepped through those sliding hospital doors.

It happened every time he entered a hospital. It didn't matter what country it was in, or even what hemisphere, there was always that momentary chill of fear that this was the one place in the world where being Scott Tracy didn't make the slightest bit of difference.

And then there was the fact that in Scott's mind, hospitals were synonymous with death. One of his earliest, and most vivid, memories had been in a hospital much like this one – except then it hadn't been Alan lying in the bed, with tubes sticking into his arms, it had been their mother.

Lucille Tracy. Dying of the result of the injuries she had sustained in an avalanche.

Scott Tracy. Nine years old and standing beside his mother's bed, saying goodbye.

It had been the hardest thing he had ever had to do, and as he sat beside the still figure of yet another family member, he swore that he wasn't going to have to do it again.

"Hey Alan." Scott shifted in the uncomfortable plastic chair. "I know you're sleeping right now but Virgil insisted that you can still hear us and I guess … God, this is stupid. Even if you can hear me, it's not like you can respond, is it?"

In a flurry of awkward movement, he rose from the chair and limped over to the window. It had snowed again during the night and the hospital complex outside was covered in a fine white blanket. He stood motionless for several long moments, staring out across the sprawling mass of buildings.

"Maybe you _can_ hear me," he muttered finally. "Maybe Virg is right. Maybe I should just talk to you like I usually do – like everything's normal." He paused, waiting for inspiration to strike. Nothing came and he sighed, leaning back against his crutches. "Oh who am I kidding? Everything's not normal. Everything's as far from normal as it could possibly be. If this was normal, I'd be yelling at you about talking back to Dad and you'd be about to explode."

Scott turned back to his brother's bed, half expecting to see the younger man glaring at him. Instead he was confronted with the sight of Alan lying motionless on the bed, his eyes closed.

As Scott watched his youngest brother, his own words came back to haunt him. _I'd be yelling at you about talking back to Dad and you'd be about to explode …_ It had simply been a random, throwaway comment but the more Scott thought about it, the more he realised how painfully accurate an observation it was.

Shouting and glowering … in some ways it had been the basis of his and Alan's relationship. What with their father being busy for the majority of Alan's childhood, Scott had been forced into the role of surrogate parent. Where his other brothers had developed the normal sibling relationship with their youngest brother, Scott had been the one to discipline him and attempt to keep the worst of his exploits from reaching their father's ears. The easy camaraderie he shared with Virgil, John and Gordon simply hadn't existed between him and Alan. He loved his little brother certainly, and he knew that Alan loved him, but Scott had always been more a father than a brother to the youngest Tracy.

That's why looking at Alan in this condition was so hard. Here was the kid he had raised from diapers to grad school. The kid who alternatively made him smile and drove him up the wall. The kid who went from being sunny to being sullen in the blink of an eye. Scott had never felt so responsible for another human life as he did for Alan's.

"And you've really made a mess of things this time, kid," Scott breathed, easing himself back against the wall beside the window and resting his crutches beside him. "As your stunts go – this is the best so far. I think even Gordon would have to give you a ten out of ten." He suddenly realised what he was doing and smiled slightly. "Well at least I'm talking now – Virg'll be impressed. Even if it is just complimenting you on yet another pure moment of Alan Tracyness." He looked across at the bed once more and immediately regretted his last comment. "No, I didn't mean that I thought you did this on purpose or anything – ah, hell, Alan, I'm not very good at this am I?"

It was a rhetorical question but once again, Scott half expected some kind of reaction from his comatose brother. After it was greeted by silence, he shifted awkwardly.

"I bet you're loving this, aren't you?" he asked Alan sourly. "Stumbling over my words like an idiot. I swear this is all Virgil's fault …" He turned back to the window and stared blindly out at the snow-drenched buildings.

There was a long silence before he spoke again.

"You see Al, it's like this … you've got to wake up. And that's not a friendly request – it's a direct order from your commander. So you've got to obey or Dad'll stick you on clean-up duty for the next six months and Gordon'll never let you live it down. You wouldn't want to give him the satisfaction, would you? Besides, you've got all this unfinished business to attend to. Like being a part of the organisation. All the work you've put into it … I know you wouldn't want to throw all of that away. Especially when you were so good at it … and, well …"

Scott was quiet for a few moments as he groped around for the right words. He fiddled with his crutches; the metal poles clinked gently against one another as Scott gathered his thoughts.

"Look, I know I might not have said it very often … but I'm proud of you, Alan. We all are. You're smart, loyal, passionate … and while most of the time those qualities made me want to lock you in your room and never let you out, they make me respect you too. And you've got the makings of a damn good pilot. Hell, who knows, - if you work at it, one day you might even be better than me. So you see, Alan, you've got to wake up. I mean, you've finally achieved what you've always wanted – you're not just going to throw all that away are you?"

Scott picked up his crutches and hobbled slowly across to the bed. He stood, looking down at his little brother. History was not going to repeat itself. He was not going to say goodbye again. Alan wasn't going to slip away.

"I'm not going to let you."

* * *

John hated the sounds of hospitals. The endless whirring and beeping of the cardiac monitors. The wheezing of the ventilators. And the patients; the cries of pain when a broken bone was set; the frantic voices demanding explanations, the muted sobs when bad news was received.

After the silence of space, even the quietest of sounds was amplified a hundreds time over. John had tried shutting the door to Alan's room but that had only succeeded in muffling the problem. And what with the plethora of doctors and nurses that passed through the room over the course of a day, John spent more time on his feet than he did sitting beside his brother's bed.

Eventually he simply gave up and contented himself with sitting at Alan's bedside, watching as his youngest brother slept. He let the bustling sounds of the hospital wash over him and devoted his attention to his brother instead.

"Hey, little brother. I guess I'm probably the last person you expected to hear from right now considering how much of a bitch my commute is from work." John smiled slightly. "It's all Dad's fault. He seemed to think you deserved some kind of special treatment so he's finally letting me use all that holiday time I've got stored up."

John leaned forward in his chair and brushed a strand of blond hair back from Alan's forehead. As always with Alan, he was struck by how similar his brother's appearance was to his own. Both blond haired and blue eyed … after Alan's birth their parents had speculated endlessly on how much like him Alan would turn out to be. It hadn't taken them long to realise that despite their identical colourings, in terms of personality, he and Alan were like chalk and cheese.

Where Alan was fiery and short-tempered, John was calm and collected. Where Alan was impetuous and impatient, John was methodical and patient. In fact, aside from their appearances, the only thing that John and Alan had in common was their love of space.

"It sure is beautiful up there, huh Alan? Do you remember those weeks you spent with me during your training? I've never seen anyone else take to it so quickly. You were fascinated. Dad grinned like a fool when he found out, did you know that? I can't remember if I ever told you …"

_No_, John thought suddenly,_ no, I didn't. I was going to, but then your rotation ended and you went back to the island._

For some reason that thought made him feel inexplicably sad. He stroked Alan's hair back again and rested his elbows on the edge of the bed.

"We talked more in those few weeks then I think we've ever done before. I remember thinking you'd changed so much. You weren't just my volatile kid-brother anymore. You were happy, and excited, and eager to learn. I was really impressed … and also kinda surprised. When did you grow up, Alan?"

John's eyes moved across his brother's familiar features, trying not to notice the dark rings underneath Alan's eyes and how pale his skin was. There were still traces of the boy Alan had once been in that face, but there was also an added maturity that John hadn't noticed before.

"I guess I wasn't there … I guessed I missed it," he murmured, linking his hands together and resting his chin on top of them. "I suppose it couldn't be helped but still ..." John's expression grew troubled. "I should have made more of an effort. When we _were_ together … I should have got to know you better. Heck, I don't even know stupid little things about you – like what your favourite food is, or what kind of music you like to listen to."

John sighed as an intense feeling of regret swept through him. There was so much about Alan that he didn't know … what kind of brother did that make him?

"I'm sorry Alan. I guess I should have made more of an effort to get to know you better. Even if I didn't know this was going to happen … you're my brother and that should have been enough of an incentive." He sighed again. "I _was_ going to ask Dad if you could come and do another cycle of training with me. I don't do that for just anyone, you know. That would have given us a good chance to talk … so you're just going to have to get better quickly, aren't you? This offer isn't going to be on the table forever. I know you want it … I know that at least. And if the offer of spending yet more months alone in my company isn't enough to make you want to wake up then I don't know what is." John smiled slightly. "Besides, I want to know all about you and where-else are the going to get the opportunity to talk about yourself for hours on end?

"So come on, Alan, wake up. I've only got a limited amount of time down here and I don't want to go back without you. If you don't want to do it for yourself then at least do it for your big brother. You have _no_ idea how lonely it gets at work on my own."

* * *

Virgil hated the clinical whiteness of hospitals. The artist in him longed to be let loose upon the pristine white walls. To paint swirls of brilliance upon the linoleum floors, to wrap the pillows and bed-sheets in a myriad of colours. Surely the cheerless white could hardly aid in the patients' recovery? Colours were warming and some people even believed they had healing properties. Certainly green was a favourite of the medical industry, so why on Earth didn't they decorate their facilities in a soothing 'Willow Creek' rather than the endless seas of 'Jasmine White'?

Alan's room was little better. True, a pair of light blue curtains were fluttering in the window and the bed sheets that covered his brother's still form were more cream than white, but these small touches were overshadowed by the hulking grey monitors and the crisp paleness of the walls. Even the large vase of brightly coloured flowers on the bedside table seem to shrink in the oppressive room.

Lying in the hospital bed, Alan seemed younger and more fragile than Virgil remember. Dark circles stood out underneath his closed eyelids and his skin was so white it was almost translucent. The only evidence of Alan's injury was the pristine bandage that encircled his head. Virgil stared at it blankly. It seemed illogical that something so small could cause so many problems. That Alan could have simply hit his head and, as a consequence, ended up in a coma.

Virgil, perhaps more than any of his family, recognised the seriousness of Alan's condition. While not officially medically trained, he was International Rescue's designated medical expert. He was the one that everyone looked to when a rare injury occurred during a rescue. Of course, he'd never had to cope with something so serious as a subdural hematoma before – and he hoped he would never have to again. Once Alan woke up and was back on his feet there were all going to have to sit down as a family and discuss matters. The helplessness Virgil felt while sitting at Alan's beside was not something he was willing to experience ever again. His family had spent enough time in hospitals already. Something had to change.

Virgil ran a hand over his face as he regarded his little brother's still form. As irritating as he often found Alan, he would have given anything for the youngest Tracy to wake up and annoy the hell out of him again.

"Not that I'm ever going to tell you that," he commented conversationally. "You'd never let me live it down, would you? And you'd certainly never forget. You know, sometimes I think you store up blackmail material over _years_. You certainly seemed to be able to remember all of our worst moments when you want something from us."

A slight smile crept across Virgil's features as he recalled a number of occasions in which his youngest brother had proved he wasn't someone to be trifled with. Too many people make the mistake of underestimating Alan Tracy and living to regret it. Even his own brothers; there had been that famous incident with Scott …

"Do you remember that, Al? Scott couldn't get that dye out of his hair for _weeks_. I thought he was going to throttle you."

It had been Gordon who had saved Alan that day, Virgil remembered, something that had become more and more common over the years. After all, being the youngest of five boys had given them plenty of incentive to develop a healthy alliance in the face of their older brothers. Of course with John working on Thunderbird 5 it had mostly been Virgil and Scott …

The thought trailed off as Virgil watched Alan's still face. Even though his brother was in repose – his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling gently – Virgil was forcibly reminded of the last time they had spoken on a one to one basis. Alan had been hanging around Thunderbird 2's silo while he had been working on fine-tuning some of the mechanics of the great green machine. The work had been difficult and the last thing Virgil had needed was a pestering younger brother. So he had sent Alan away before the younger Tracy could even open his mouth to explain his presence.

Looking back on it now Virgil felt ashamed. He'd misjudged the situation; Alan hadn't been pestering as much as asking intelligent questions that showed a real interest in the answers. He'd been trying to get involved and Virgil, frustrated with hours of complex work, had sent him away without even bothering to listen.

Too much of their relationship had been like that. In terms of personality, Virgil and Alan were as different as two siblings could be. Alan, hot headed, impatient and self-centred; Virgil, patient, hard working and focused. As much as Virgil loved his brother, he'd never had a great deal of time for the spoiled and often petulant Alan.

Of course things had been different lately. There was no denying that Alan was growing up – their dad finally allowing Alan to start his training was proof enough. If only Virgil had recognised that earlier instead of constantly pushing Alan away. If only he'd given Alan more of his time.

"I'm sorry, Al. I haven't been very fair, have I? You were looking for guidance and I was too busy to help." He took a deep breath. "Well that's going to change when you wake up – I promise. I know you're serious about work … and I'm sorry I haven't been very supportive so far. I guess it's hard to remember when I was going through training. Hell, it's hard to remember when_Gordon_ was. But I know that's no excuse. I should have tried to help you more … and I swear I will when you wake up. You're a good kid Alan, with a lot of potential. Don't let it all go to waste."

* * *

Gordon hated hospital food. It was, and always would be, his abiding memory of being in hospital. Those narrow grey trays, with their neat little compartments. Monday's had been chicken, Tuesday's beef, Wednesday's pork. Not that you could actually tell the difference; one lump of unidentifiable meat product looked very much like any other. Friday's fish had always been a relief – at least then you'd had a fighting chance at guessing what you were putting in your mouth.

It had been years since the hydrofoil accident but when Gordon closed his eyes, he could still picture the room in which he'd spent countless months of his life. It was much like the room his younger brother was lying in, with one difference. He'd been awake while his family sat anxiously beside his bed. Alan was not.

Gordon glanced down at his little brother and felt the familiar stirrings of anger. It was the same anger that had caused him to so violently lash out at Scott all those days ago and had simmered inside of him since he'd responded to Virgil's desperate call and seen Alan lying motionless on his bathroom floor.

It was all so unfair. International Rescue – his family – risked their lives to help others. They were the saviours, and for the fact that they routinely put their lives on the line, they weren't supposed to get hurt. They weren't supposed to end up in hospital beds in comas.

But what made him even angrier was the fact that Alan hadn't done anything about his head-injury. He wasn't angry with Alan, he wasn't even angry with Scott, not really. No he was angry at the whole organisation. At his father. At himself. What kind of family forced their members to carry on working when they were injured? What kind of family carried the weight of such high expectations that one of their members would rather suffer in silence than admit the weakness of a cracked skull? And what kind of family didn't notice that one of their own was on the verge of collapse?

Why hadn't _he_ noticed?

It had always been hard for Alan, being the youngest member of the Tracy family. Gordon knew his older brothers were vaguely aware that Alan had had difficulties, but he was fairly sure they had no idea how much their little brother had struggled; firstly in his fight to be a Thunderbird and secondly in his fight to gain his brothers' and father's respect. Growing up in Jeff Tracy's house had always been a challenge, but for the free-spirited and short-tempered Alan, it had been like ploughing through a minefield.

Gordon sat at the foot of Alan's bed, patting his blanket-covered legs affectionately with his free hand. Alan Tracy. His little brother. His partner-in-crime. His best friend. His worst enemy. The Tracy problem child who'd only ever needed someone to listen.

Gordon traced a pattern on the blanket with his finger. "Well, Al, we're all listening now. Guess it's too little, too late, huh?"

The ventilator hissed in reply.

Gordon sighed. "Yeah, thought so."

Trying to get comfortable, he shifted on the bed and pulled his legs up, mindful of his injured shoulder. He ended up sitting cross-legged, facing his brother. The simple position was so reminiscent of how Alan would sit at the foot of _his_ bed when they were children that Gordon began to smile.

"I bet you'd find this whole situation hilarious," he told his brother conversationally. "Me mooning over you like this. God, if you ever find out I'll never live it down. You'll have enough blackmail material to keep me quiet until we're both old and grey."

It was funny, but as he spoke, Gordon felt the tension begin to drain out of him. It didn't matter that Alan couldn't reply – possibly couldn't even here – it was just so good to talk to him again. To be able to forget his anger and remember his brother.

"Of course, I can give as good as I get. And unless my amazing perceptiveness has failed me, I have a feeling that pictures of you and a certain female occupant of our island are about to become worth a lot more than any other photos in Gordon Tracy's album. So what's my silence worth, huh? I'm thinking you forget my moping and, let's say, do my laundry for a month and I won't blab to the rest of our family about you and Tin-Tin." Gordon grinned, imagining his brother's outraged reaction when Alan found out about those photos.

"Bet you thought I didn't know about your little secret, didn't you? Oh Alan, Alan, Alan … when will you learn that it's impossible to keep secrets on such a small island? Especially when you're older brother has a particular interest in ferreting them out. But seriously – it wasn't like you and Tin-Tin were really a secret anyway. I mean, I've seen this coming for _months._ So have Virg and Scott – I heard them talking about it a few weeks ago. Heck, even _Dad's_ probably worked it out. It's not like subtleties your strong point, Al. In fact, it couldn't have been less of a secret if you'd paid a sky-writer to paint 'Alan wuvs Tin-Tin' over Tracy Island." Gordon stretched his legs out alongside his brothers, warming to his theme.

"Speaking of secrets, you'll never guess what Scott's been up to. You know his 'email' friend from England? Turns out she's a bit more than just a friend. All those 'business trips' and mysterious visits to Lady Penelope? Seems big brother's been telling a few white lies. I think Lady P must be in on it - she's a big romantic at heart – but can you imagine how Dad's going to react when he finds out? 'Threatening the security of the operation, blah, blah, blah …' Still, it's not like_ I'm _going to tell him. That's Scott treat. Nah, I might just drop the odd hint here and there when he's ordering me to clean out the silos again …" Gordon laughed and patted Alan's legs again.

"See, this is why I need you to wake up, Al. So you can appreciate my creative genius. I bet you're wondering how I know all about little English Katherine, aren't you? Well I'm not going to tell you until you wake up, okay? And if that's not incentive then I don't know what is. So – so wake up. Now."

The cardiac monitor beeped mournfully. Alan's eyes remained closed.

Gordon smiled wistfully. "Got carried away with my wishful thinking there, Al. I mean, since when have you done anything I ask you to? You always do things in your own time. I guess that's okay, as long as you promise that it's not going to be much longer. After all, you can't sleep forever and there are things I want – things I _need_ to tell you. So you're going to wake up, understand?

"It is_ not_ going to end like this."

* * *

Tin-Tin had never been to a hospital before. Not of her own volition anyway. Certainly she had been born in one, but that definitely wasn't a memory she could recall. And on the rare occasions that a rescue had ended in a trip to the mainland, it had never been serious enough to warrant her presence at the hospital. Even after Gordon's hydrofoil accident; she'd been deemed too young then, and besides, it had been a family affair. So it was that walking through the doors of Auckland City Hospital had been a brand new experience for her and even though she'd had all of Alan's family there for support, it had been one of the hardest things she'd ever done.

She'd known it was serious even before Jeff had contacted the island and confirmed that Alan was in a coma. Perhaps it was a case of natural intuition, or perhaps it was because she'd been there when the initial blow had fallen. The image of Alan staggering out of the dust cloud, blood coating half of his face, would forever be ingrained in her memory. Was that how she was destined to remember him?

And was an angry rejection the way that he was to remember her?

Guilt swam up inside of Tin-Tin and threatened to overwhelm her. Why had she reacted like that? Why couldn't she just have been honest about her feelings? And why, _why_, hadn't she told someone about Alan's head injury. If she'd just spoken up then Alan would have been properly checked at Morriston hospital and she wouldn't be sitting at his bedside where he lay in a coma.

A tear trickled down her cheek and she wiped it away angrily. Crying wasn't going to change anything – it wasn't going to make any of this go away. She needed to be strong right now – strong for Alan. What would he rather see when he woke up: a face red and unattractive from crying or a bright smile?

It was easier said than done and the smile that stretched across Tin-Tin's face felt tight and false. It wavered for a few seconds and then died, much to her relief. Alan, she quickly decided, would hardly care what she looked like when he woke up, and as for her own self-esteem … well, it was hardly important right now. She was here, sitting next to Alan's bed, and that said far more than any smile ever could.

Tin-Tin reached across slowly and took Alan's hand in her own. She turned it over and weaved her fingers through his, locking them together. His fingers felt icily cold in her warm grip and she couldn't ignore the fact that when she squeezed, he didn't squeeze back.

"Oh Alan," she whispered brokenly, her eyes tracing the lines of his face. He seemed so much older than she remembered – as if his experiences since the mine collapse had aged him beyond his years. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

Suddenly she was crying again, but silently this time, tears slipping down her cheeks to fall softly onto the bed-covers below. This time she let them flow and concentrated instead on the words she had been trying to say for so long, and which had finally found an outlet.

"I didn't mean for things to get so out of hand. But I was confused … I didn't know what I wanted. And –" Tin-Tin swallowed hard, " – and I was scared. Really scared. Scared that what I felt for you wasn't real. Scared that you would get bored of me. That everything would be great for a while and then – and then you'd wake up one morning and realise that you didn't want me anymore. The thought of you being with someone else … I couldn't stand it. I didn't want to take the risk. There are so many beautiful girls in the world and you're so rich, so handsome … what could you possibly see in me?"

Tin-Tin shook her head, her dark hair falling about her face. "It all seems so stupid now. So much time wasted because I was too afraid to … to say what I – to admit that I … and now I don't even know if you're going to wake up, and I – I _need_ you to wake up, Alan." Tin-Tin tightened her grip on his limp hand. "There're things – things I need to tell you. Things I need to explain. You have to … _please_, Alan. Please just open your eyes. I need to know that you can hear me. I need to know your listening when … when I tell you …" Tin-Tin's voice trailed off to a whisper. "I think – I think I love you. I'm so sorry I didn't say it before, but everything was happening so quickly and I – I didn't know how to act, so I got angry and upset – and you got angry and upset – and everything just fell apart … And now you're here and I'm so scared that it's too late … so you see Alan, you _have_ to wake up. You just _have_ to. Because there are still things I have to say. I have to tell you the truth. Please, you have to give me that chance … _please_ …"

Tin-Tin watched Alan's face desperately, her grip on his hand turning her knuckles white.

The ventilator continued to hiss. The cardiac monitor continued to sound.

Alan didn't open his eyes.


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Fractured Faces

**Chapter Thirteen: Fractured Faces**

Slowly, life returned to a semblance of normality.

John travelled back to Thunderbird 5. Gordon, Virgil, Scott and their father returned to Tracy Island. International Rescue became operational again; its ranks swelling as first Gordon and then Scott were proclaimed fit for duty. Brains began tinkering with another experiment, while Fermat learned at his side. Kyrano cared for his plants and Onaha pottered about in the kitchen. Tin-Tin retreated to her rock overlooking the beach and wondered how everything could be so normal and yet so unbelievably wrong.

For despite the familiar tasks, the cracks were beginning to show. With each passing day, the tension on the island grew and the rare arguments that had once been a part of island life, quickly became an almost daily occurrence. The futility that everyone was feeling over Alan's condition; the fear that he would never wake up; the refusal to discuss what would happen if two months became six, twelve, eighteen … Slowly but surely, the Tracy family was falling apart and the one person who could bring them back together again remained unconscious in the medical centre, his body healed but his mind silent.

It had been over two months now since the accident. For the first several weeks, Alan had remained at the New Zealand hospital under the watchful eye of Doctor Makura. With every day that passed had come further disappointment as Alan remained comatose. Eventually, knowing the International Rescue couldn't remain grounded indefinitely, Jeff had requested that Alan be transferred to Tracy Island where Brains and Virgil could keep an eye on him until he finally awoke. Doctor Makura had been understandably reluctant to agree to such an unusual request but ultimately, the determination of Jeff Tracy and a satellite link by which the doctor could examine the medical facilities of the island, had earned her agreement. Jeff had signed a form to ensure there would be no repercussions should something happen to Alan under his care, and soon Tracy One was winging its way back towards the island.

Four weeks on and nothing had changed. They still took shifts sitting with Alan – or at least as much as it was possible. With Gordon and Scott still recovering from their injuries, Virgil inevitably ended up with the majority of the clean-ups and vehicle checks and had little time to visit his brother. Scott avoided it whenever possible, citing too much work or some other excuse. Tin-Tin would spend a whole day with Alan and then disappear for the next three. Only Gordon visited regularly, enjoying the quiet that the medical centre provided. Spending more time with Alan made him feel closer to his brother somehow, and it also gave him the chance to work in his shoulder exercises while outlining his latest prank to willing ears.

Willing, if silent, ears.

Gordon stopped in the middle of telling his younger brother about his plans to dye Virgil's hair pink and looked down at Alan's still face. He looked so much younger when he was sleeping. His smooth, unlined face and shock of blond hair could have belonged to a child, not the man he was. And certainly not the man who spent his days saving the lives of other people.

"Eugh – I'm having soppy thoughts _again_." Gordon rotated his shoulder gently, first forward, then backwards. "We can't have that, can we? I've already given you enough blackmail material on our brothers – you don't need any on me too. No, let's move on to a safer topic. Scott's mystery girlfriend –"

The alarm sounded, cutting Gordon off. He stood up, rolling his eyes in a mock fashion. "Great, _another_ rescue. And with you being a lazy git, I guess we'll all be pulled in for it." He sighed dramatically and gave Alan a lazy salute. "See you later, little brother."

Gordon swung out of the room and hurried through the Tracy home, almost bumping into Fermat and Brains who had come up from the lab. The three of them reached the control room together to find the rest of the Tracy family waiting for them.

"S-s-so-sor-sor –"

Jeff waved away Brains' apology and turned back to the monitor. Gordon moved to join his brothers. "What's the situation?" he whispered to Virgil.

"Fire in a school in France."

Gordon blinked. "Another fire?"

"The chemistry lab exploded."

Gordon grinned. "Alan sure gets around," he joked without thinking.

Scott shot him a disapproving look and Virgil stiffened. Gordon immediately regretted his thoughtless words and his cheeks reddened slightly. It was the kind of comment that Alan would have protested loudly against only … only Alan wasn't here.

Gordon pushed that negative thought aside and turned back to the matter at hand. His dad was leaning forward, his hands on his desk. On the screen in front of him, John's face was tight and drawn. He looked exhausted and Gordon wondered how much it was to do with the impending rescue and how much of it was down to Alan.

Jeff straightened and turned towards them. "Okay. We keep to the normal set-up; Scott, you're in Thunderbird 1 and Virgil and Gordon take 2. You'll want to load the Firefly and the Mole – just to be safe. There're no reports yet that the building has collapsed but I think we all know from experience that with fire, there's no knowing what could happened."

Gordon shivered as he recalled the previous rescue involving fire … and the outcome.

"Mr Tracy, shall I go with them?"

Tin-Tin had entered unnoticed during the conversation. She stood just inside the door, her pretty face expressionless, her arms clasped loosely in front of her. Jeff studied her for a moment and then shook his head. "Not this time, Tin-Tin."

"But without Al – Alan your numbers are reduced. Let me help."

Gordon watched his father curiously. Jeff seemed torn between the logic of Tin-Tin's statement and a need to the protect her. What had happened to Alan had made everyone only too aware of their own mortality.

"Please, Mr Tracy. One more person could make all the difference."

Jeff ran a hand through his greying hair. "Alright. Tin-Tin, go with Virgil and Gordon." The slight girl moved over to join them but Jeff hadn't finished. "Scott, I want you to remain on Mobile Control whatever happens. You're leg's still healing and the last thing we need is you re-breaking it." Scott looked like he was about to protest, but Jeff ploughed onwards. "Gordon, watch that shoulder. Virgil, Tin-Tin, don't take any unnecessary risks. Be careful and above all, look out for each other. This rescue is going to have a different ending."

* * *

'_Bienvenue à l'école de Mael-Carhaix!'_

The welcoming words of the sign stared mocking at Scott as he glanced up at the French school. Even from this distance he could clearly see the flames that had consumed the chemistry lab. Now they were threatening to spill over into the rest of the science block and even as Thunderbird 2 settled onto to school's play field, Scott worried that the Firefly wasn't going to be strong enough to extinguish the blaze.

Even now people were still streaming out of the building. Groups of frightened school children clustered together, their faces pale underneath the soot. Some were crying, others seemed to have struck dumb by the sight of the leaping flames. Harried teachers swarmed around them, shepherding some across to where the local ambulances had been station and making sure that the rest remained a safe distance away from the building. A growing crowd was gathering at the edges of the school grounds and Scott tensed when he caught sight of several video cameras.

"_Thunderbird 5 to Mobile Control. Come in, Mobile Control._"

Scott turned back to the console at the sound of John's voice. "Mobile Control all received."

"_What's the situation?_"

"The area has been secured and Thunderbird 2 has just arrived." Scott glanced over his shoulder at the large green craft. "Her pod's being lowered."

"_What about the fire_?"

"From what I can see, it's spreading. We'll have a clearer picture once the Firefly gets inside."

"_Tell Virg to be careful. The lab'll be full of flammable chemicals, liquids, gases –_"

"This isn't his first time on a rescue, John," Scott snapped. "I think he knows what to do."

There was a brief pause. John's silence spoke volumes and Scott bit his tongue. He was about to apologise when a frantic voice caught his attention. A tall, slender man in a dark suit was running towards Mobile Control, waving his arms. His face with bruised underneath the layers of soot and a cut on his cheek bled sluggishly.

"_Monsieur! Monsieur, les enfants – _!" The man grabbed Scott's arms and shook him with surprising strength. "_Les enfants sont toujours à l'intérieur_!"

"Woah – slow down!" Scott pulled himself free and grappled for his limited knowledge of the French language. "_Parlez-vous anglais_?" The man didn't seem to hear him. He rattled off another stream of French, pointing desperately from Scott to the building. Scott swore and turned back to Mobile Control. "John, a little help here?"

"_He said something about the children. I didn't catch everything_."

"_Les enfants_ –" the man repeated, his voice rising. "_Ils sont emprisonnés à l'intérieur de l'école. Vous devez les aider_!"

"_He said that there are some children still trapped inside the school._"

Scott swore again. So much for a straightforward rescue. "Ask him how many."

John obediently repeated the request in French. The man looked between Scott and Mobile Control, where John's voice was coming from, his brow furrowed with confusion.

"_C'est d'accord_," Scott assured him, the words he had learned in High School French slowly coming back to him.

John repeated his question: "_Combien d'enfants sont emprisonnés_?"

The man's expression cleared as he pushed his trepidation aside. "_Cinq_. _Ils ont été emprisonnés par le feu!_"

"_Où sont-ils_?" John pressed.

"_Le laboratoire de chimie. Au fond de la salle par les compartiments de verre_." The man ran one hand over his face and looked across at the burning building. His expression was heavy with guilt. "_J'ai essayé mais je ne pourrais pas les atteindre_."

"_Ne vous inquiétez pas, nous les trouverons_," John promised.

The man wavered. "_Je devrais aider_ –"

"_Vous devriez vous obtenir vérifié par les infirmiers_," John corrected gently. "_Vous avez fait votre travail nous laissez maintenant faire le nôtre_."

The man looked down at his soot-covered clothes and blinked, as if finally realising his condition for the first time. "_D'accord_," he agreed finally. "_Mais dépêchez-vous sil vous plait_."

As the man hurried across towards the paramedics, Scott opened his mouth to ask for a translation. John beat him to it. "He said that there are five children trapped inside the chemistry lab," his younger brother said succinctly. "They got cut off by the fire and he couldn't get them out. I told him we'd save them and sent him to be seen by the paramedics."

Scott frowned, disliking the cavalier way in which John had made the promise. Such promises had caused problems for International Rescue in the past, when, tragically, they couldn't be fulfilled. But instead of arguing with his brother, he opened up a channel to the Firefly and filled Virgil in on the new development.

* * *

Virgil carefully guided the Firefly around the side of the building and towards the fire. The news that there were a number of children trapped somewhere inside the blaze hadn't phased him. What it had done was unpleasantly reminded him of what had happened the last time International Rescue had had to rescue people trapped by fire.

_Scott with a broken leg, Gordon with a dislocated shoulder and Alan … _He pushed the thought aside. Their dad had been right; this rescue was going to have a different ending.

* * *

A strong sense of déjà vu hit Gordon as he and Tin-Tin entered the school. The deserted corridors with their colourful display boards were a far cry from the dark, cloying depths of the welsh mine, but the sense of the rescue was the same. Even through the protective fire-suit Gordon was wearing, he could still smell the burning and he could almost feel the heat of the fire against his skin. As they rounded the corner and entered the science department, the sensation only worsened. Beside him, Tin-Tin flinched and he glanced across at her. With the bulky helmet of her fire-gear in place, it was impossible to gauge her expression but he guessed she was probably trying to hide her fear. While Tin-Tin was by no means new to the work of International Rescue, she didn't have a large amount of active experience on missions. And besides, with everything that had happened to Alan, it wasn't surprising that she would be scared.

Thoughts of his younger brother tugged at Gordon's consciousness and after a moment, he pushed them aside. As difficult as it was, dwelling on Alan now would only complicate matters. From what Scott had reported, this was turning out to be a far more complex rescue than anyone had first imagined.

"Not far now," he commented to Tin-Tin as they passed a door with the words '_Laboratoire De Physique_' written on the glass.

"_Where were the children again?_" she asked, her voice sounding tinny through the headset.

"At the back of the room. The teacher said something about glass cabinets but God knows if they're still standing_._"

"_How are we going to get them out?"_

"We wait for Virg to put out the flames and then we go in and save the day_._"

As if on cue, Virgil's voice sounded in Gordon's ear. "_Firefly has reached the lab._"

"_How's it looking, Virg?_" That was Scott, sounding impatient as usual.

"_It's a mess. The fire's spread into the next lab and parts of the roof have fallen in_."

"_Can you get inside_?" Scott demanded.

"_FAB. A couple of the ceiling supports have smashed through the outer wall. I could fit Thunderbird 2 through it._"

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that_,_" Gordon joked.

"_Oh my God_."

The breathless voice was Tin-Tin's and as soon as he turned towards her, Gordon realised why. They had reached the entrance to the chemistry lab – or at least what had once been the entrance of the chemistry lab. The buckled remains of the door were crumpled against the other side of the corridor; Gordon guessed it had been blown there by the initial explosion. Thick clouds of smoke rolled towards them and beyond, barely visible beyond the smoke and flames, was the wreckage of the classroom.

Scott's voice came across the airwaves. "_Tin-Tin, are you alright?_"

"_Tin-Tin_?" Virgil's anxious query echoed his brother's.

"She's okay," Gordon answered for her when Tin-Tin simply shook her head. "It's just – we've reached the lab. Virg is right, Scott. It's a complete mess_._"

"_Okay, Virg, I want you in first to try and get the flames down. Gordon, Tin-Tin? Once it's clear, find those kids. Getting them out's our number one priority._"

"_FAB._" The acknowledgement was echoed by three different voices.

Gordon turned his attention back to the fire and squinted through the smoke. Somewhere on the other side of the mass of debris and flame, five schoolchildren were trapped. Trapped and terrified – if they were alive at all. Part of Gordon wanted to run in regardless of Scott's command but he held himself back. With everything that had happened recently, the last thing his family needed was _another_ son in hospital.

"Which means we wait_._"

* * *

Virgil felt a swell of satisfaction as the water of the Firefly's high-powered spray blasted into the opening. The flames hissed and died under the power of the jet. He inched the machine forward, moving towards the gap in the wall and then through it. Miraculously, none of the chemicals in the laboratory were caught by the dancing flames and under the powerful stream of water, the intensity of the fire began to lessen. The room was still far from being safe but as Virgil directed the jet towards another pocket of flames, he felt confident enough to contact his brother.

"Firefly to Mobile Control_._"

There was a brief pause and then Scott responded. "_Mobile Control all received. Go ahead Firefly._"

"The fire's coming under control. You can send Gordon and Tin-Tin in now_._"

"_Are you sure?_"

Virgil fought the urge to remind his brother that he had been working for International Rescue for many years now and if he wasn't sure then he wouldn't have contacted Mobile Control. "I'm sure, Scott_._"

"_FAB. I'll let them know._"

"FAB. Firefly ou_ –"_

"_And Virg? I want you to keep that fire down, okay? It's not just the kids inside the lab now._"

Once again Virgil had to bite his tongue to stem a sarcastic reply. He knew why Scott was monitoring every tiny little movement any of them made. It had been the same on all of the rescues that his older brother had commanded since the accident. Unfortunately, just because he understood Scott's actions didn't mean that they weren't beginning to drive him – and everyone else – mad. It was becoming harder and harder to for Virgil to keep his thoughts and opinions to himself. If Scott continued to act as though Alan's condition was only affecting him … Virgil shook his head and attacked another clustered of flames. "FAB. Mobile Control. Firefly out_._"

* * *

When the order to enter the lab came through, Tin-Tin was relieved. There really was nothing worse than being forced to wait, knowing that barely ten metres away, a group of schoolchildren were trapped and helpless. As she followed Gordon into the thick, white smoke, her sense of purpose dampened the fear that was rising up inside of her. They were going to go in, locate the children and bring them out again. It was as simple as that.

All thoughts of simplicity evaporated from Tin-Tin's mind as she groped for the blackened and pitted doorway of the laboratory and saw the scene of the explosion with her own eyes. The room was much larger than she had first imagined; more than fifty children could comfortably have sat around the wide, hexagonal modules that dominated the central space. They were the only part of the room that seemed relatively unscathed – although all showed signs of fire damage. The fire itself continued to smoulder on the opposite of the room and through the rolling smoke, Tin-Tin caught glimpses of the Firefly as Virgil fought to control the blaze. And yet the absence of fire by no means meant safety on their side of the room. Several of the heavy ceiling supports had collapsed into the lab, forming a maze that she and Gordon would have to negotiate. Between the thick lengths of steel, the various pieces of splintered wood, the broken glass and the twisted metal, it was easy to see how the children had become trapped.

"_Christ. Looks like a bomb exploded in here._"

Tin-Tin looked around. "Didn't John say something about an experiment with magnesium …"

"That can be part of a bomb_._" Gordon picked his way into the room. "_Making bombs in chemistry class. Wish they'd done that at _my _school._"

"It's not funny, Gordon_,_" Tin-Tin retorted, finding his joking tone completely inappropriate. "Someone could have been seriously injured! What about those kids?_"_

There was a surprised silence and Tin-Tin got the feeling Gordon was staring at her from within his helmet. "_Yeah, sorry,_" he apologised and then quickly changed the subject. "_Anyway, the kids. Scott said they were at the back of the room … this way._"

Tin-Tin followed Gordon as he forged a path through the rubble. She felt like she should apologise for snapping and that feeling in turn irritated her. Gordon had been mucking around when they should have been devoting all of their attention to the rescue. She hadn't been out of line … had she?

In front of her, Gordon stumbled and caught himself on a nearby ceiling support.

"Are you okay?" Tin-Tin asked anxiously, her previous irritation forgotten.

"_Yeah_." He straightened and flexed his shoulder and arm slowly. Tin-Tin noticed it was the same shoulder he had injured in the welsh rescue. A chill ran through her body.

They moved onwards through the debris. Their progress was painfully slow and Tin-Tin began worrying that even if they did finally reach the children, they would be too late. Besides, how did they even know they were going in the right direction? Did anyone have a schematic of the lab? What if she and Gordon were just moving deeper and deeper into the wreckage? What if the lab collapsed on top of them – ?

"_Over there!_"

Gordon's excited cry cut off the frantic literary in Tin-Tin's mind and she followed the direction of his outstretched hand. Behind a pair of fractured ceiling supports, a number of tables had been overturned and pushed back against the cabinets affixed to the rear wall of the laboratory. Whether by accident or design, the tables formed a natural barrier against both the fire and the devastation it had caused and as they clambered nearer, Tin-Tin saw what Gordon had noticed. From the small gap between the tables and the cabinets, a dirty, terrified face was staring up at them.

Gordon immediately pulled off his helmet, and covered his mouth with his hand to try and protect his lungs. "Are you alright?" he asked, moving to crouch down beside the child.

The girl blinked at him. Her dark eyes were huge in her pale, soot-stained face and there was an ugly looking gash on her forehead. She was trembling visibly.

Gordon tried again, reaching his free hand out towards her. "We've come to get you out of here. Are you hurt?"

The girl shied backwards, her face a picture of distress. Tin-Tin suddenly realised what was wrong. She pulled off her own helmet and touched Gordon's shoulder. "She doesn't speak English." She moved alongside him and smiled at the young girl. "_Salut. Je m'appelle _Tin-Tin. _Êtes-vous blessé_?"

The girl smiled tremulously back and shook her head. Then her smile faded and a tear trickled down her cheek as a vast flood of words spilled out of her mouth. "_Le laboratoire - il a éclaté! Chacun criait et le feu était si chaud... Nous avons essayé de sortir mais la fumée était trop épaisse et puis le plafond, elle est tombée vers le bas et nous avons obtenu emprisonnés en arrière ici. Monsieur Dubois a essayé de nous arriver mais il ne pourrait pas et il a dû obtenir le reste de la classe dehors. Ainsi nous sommes devenus à gauche derrière et Eric a indiqué que nous devrions pousser les tables plus de pour nous protéger..._"

"_Là où est_ Eric?" Tin-Tin asked, seizing upon the name of one of the other trapped children

"_Il est de retour ici avec _Ariane_ et _Nathalie_. La jambe d'Ariane est emprisonnée sous la table. _Eric_ et _Jacques _avaient essayé d'obtenir son libre. Vous devez les aider_!" Another tear weaved its way down the girl's cheek and she sniffed.

"What's she saying?"

"The five children took shelter behind here when the fire started," Tin-Tin reported, "but one of the girl's is trapped further down. The other three are with her."

Gordon nodded. He was about to speak when there was a tearing noise from above and a great cloud of dust, metal and fragments of wood rained down upon them. The French girl screamed. Tin-Tin covered her face with her hands and ducked. The dust caught in her lungs and she began to cough helplessly.

Hands gripped her shoulders. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah." Tin-Tin looked up into Gordon's worried face. Her companion's left cheek was bleeding sluggishly and he too was having difficulty breathing. "What about you? Your cheek –"

"It's just a scratch. We'd better hurry though. I don't know how long this roof's gonna hold."

Tin-Tin turned back to the girl. The table over her head had protected her from the shower of debris and she was watching Tin-Tin and Gordon while silent tears slid down her cheeks. Tin-Tin reached out and took her hand. "_C'est d'accord, chéri, nous vont vous obtenir dehors. Pouvez-vous sortir de dessous la table pour moi_?"

For a moment she thought the girl was going to refuse but then she nodded. Using Tin-Tin's arm for support, she crawled free of her safe haven and rose unsteadily to her feet. Tin-Tin's eyes moved over her and she was relieved to see that apart from the cut on her forehead, the girl appeared to be unharmed.

"I'll get her out of here and then come back," she told Gordon, putting an arm around the girl's shoulders.

"Let Scott know what's going on. And be careful, Tin-Tin. I don't want to have to tell Alan that I let you get hurt."

Gordon's words brought the shadow of a smile to Tin-Tin's face. She could just imagine Alan's reaction if she came back from a rescue injured.

It was only as she was hurrying out of the entrance of the school, the French girl by her side, that she realised it was the first time since the accident that she had thought of Alan without wanting to cry.

* * *

Scott wished he could pace. Unfortunately, his very recently broken leg didn't agree with him and so he was forced to remain motionless behind Mobile Control, his eyes fixed on the burning building and his ears glued to the conversation that was passing between Gordon, Tin-Tin and Virgil.

After handing the first of the trapped children over to the paramedics, Tin-Tin had hurried back inside the school to help Gordon with the remaining four. Scott had listened as they had freed Ariane's leg and then turned their attention to the other children. Currently they were on their way out of the building … and yet Scott still couldn't relax.

Not even Virgil reporting that the fire had finally been quenched decreased his feelings of anxiety. Fire or no fire, his brother – and Tin-Tin, who might as well have been his sister – were still inside a building that had been threatening to collapse for hours. Only when they were standing in front of him, injury-free, would Scott begin to release the tension inside of him.

Job completed, the Firefly trundled back around the corner of the building. Scott watched as Virgil set about returning to vehicle to its pod. His brother was as efficient as always and after a moment, Scott's attention wandered. His eyes scanned across the area that the paramedics had claimed. The girl Tin-Tin had rescued and the teacher who had alerted them to the trapped children had both been taken to hospital to be checked over, along with a number of other children who had been suffering from smoke inhalation. Only two ambulances remained now, waiting to whisk the remaining four children away to safety.

Beyond the ambulances, the crowd of observers had grown as word spread around the town what had happened. A media crew was filming events and a number of photographers were taking pictures of the building, the rescued children, Mobile Control. The last would do them no good, of course, but it was unlikely that the photographers knew that and Scott wasn't about to fill them in. Not when the rescue still wasn't over.

His gaze drifted restlessly across the crowd, fixing idly on one of the men standing just behind the barriers. Small and distinctly rotund, he was staring avidly at Scott and Mobile control. His lips were moving, yet no one around seemed to be reacting. He was clutching a sheet of paper in his hands and every so often his piggy eyes darted down and studied it intently. They would linger there for a moment and then in the next second, they fixed on Scott again. There was something unnerving and yet strangely familiar about that unblinking gaze. Scott watched him through four cycles, feeling like he was some kind of exotic animal in a zoo. His irritation grew and he was seriously debating asking the authorities to have the crazy man removed when John's voice came across the airwaves.

"_Come in Mobile Control._"

Scott tore his eyes away from the man. "I hear you. Go ahead, John."

"_Gordon and Tin-Tin are coming out with the rest of the kids._"

"FAB." Scott paused and then frowned. "And why couldn't Gordon tell me this himself?"

"_Well …_"

The irritation that had been rising up inside of Scott surged forward. It seemed that every story about his water-loving brother began with the word 'well'. And rarely ended with it. "Do I really want to know?"

"_Probably not,_" John admitted.

"Then don't tell me. The less I have to yell at him about, the better." Even Scott was taken aback by the bitterness in his tone.

There was a thoughtful silence. Then, "_Scott, is this about Alan? Are you still angry about what Gordon said?_"

His brother's words caught Scott off guard. "What do you know about that?"

"_Just what Fermat said –_"

"Yeah, well Fermat's wrong. And you're wrong. This has _nothing_ to do with Alan and everything to do with Gordon constantly clowning around on rescues. It's stupid, it's unprofessional and it puts people's lives at risk."

"_Don't you think you're over-reacting?_"

If anything, John's calm and even tone only serve to fuel Scott's anger. "You can't see everything from your lofty perch, okay? When _you're_ down here every damn rescue, _then_ you can accuse me of over-reacting." Movement at the edge of his vision drew his head up. The double doors at the front of the school had been pushed open and the familiar uniform-clad figures had emerged. "The buildings clear. Gordon and Tin-Tin have just brought the last of the kids out." The report was automatic.

"_FAB._" There was a pause and Scott knew what was coming. John the 'Peacemaker'. _"Scott – _" his brother began.

"You know what, John? I'm really not in the mood for one of your lectures right now. Mobile Control out."

He cut the connection and turned to face the approaching Gordon. His brother's face was dark with soot and grime, and there was a fresh cut on his cheek.

"Kids are alright. Tin-Tin's making sure they get checked out. So, job done." Gordon grinned, his teeth flashing whitely.

"Where's your helmet?"

"Oh, one of the kids has it. Hey, do you want a hand packing away Mobile Control?"

Scott stared at him. "You just gave your helmet away mid-rescue?"

"The boy was scared, so I took it off. Then one of the girl's latched onto it …" Gordon shrugged dismissively. "Don't worry, I'll get it back."

"You'd better."

Gordon caught the warning note in Scott's voice and frowned at him. "I said I would, didn't I? What's the big deal?"

"You shouldn't have taken it off in the first place. It was totally unprofessional and you could have been seriously hurt."

"Oh lighten up, Scott! I was never in any danger."

Scott's eyes flashed. "You can't know that. You can _never_ know that. Unless you've somehow developed the ability to see into the future – which I highly doubt."

Gordon stared at him, all his usual good humour rapidly fading out of his face. "I didn't screw up, Scott."

"No, you just acted like yourself."

"What the hell is _that _supposed to mean?"

"Irresponsible, irrational," Scott ticked them off on his fingers. "Do I have to go on?"

Gordon's voice was like ice. "You know, Scott, I'm getting _really_ sick of your holier than thou attitude. Anyone would think you were the only one suffering here. But do you know what? Alan's got a whole lot more family worrying about him than just you. Family that's actually been to visit him over the last two months!"

"You are _out of line_, Gordon!"

"What's going on?"

The concerned voice of Tin-Tin cut through the argument like a knife through butter. She had approached unnoticed, a helmet in each hand, and a fearful expression on her face as she looked between the brothers.

"Nothing," Gordon replied flatly, speaking to Tin-Tin but staring defiantly into Scott's eyes. "Doing nothing, saying nothing, always _nothing_. That's the Tracy way."

* * *

It was an anticlimactic end to the rescue. Thunderbird 2 flew back to Tracy Island in silence, Virgil wondering what had happened to make his co-pilots so uncharacteristically quiet. Thunderbird 1 moved at record speeds so that by the time everyone else had returned, Scott was nowhere in sight. Ignoring his waiting father, Gordon stormed off to the pool without a word and Tin-Tin slipped out as soon as she had greeted her parents. It was left to Virgil to try and explain the sudden tension that he knew nothing about, all the while cursing Scott and Gordon for putting him in such a position.

Amidst the confusion, other important events were playing out, unnoticed. A man compared two lists of painstakingly calculated numbers, an eager smile stretching across his broad face. A woman walked into a camping shop and bought a box of heat tablets. And down in the deserted medical centre, slowly, painstaking slowly, Alan Tracy opened his eyes.


	14. Chapter Fourteen: A Brave New World

**Chapter Fourteen: A Brave New World**

The ceiling was very white.

That was the first coherent thought that wandered into Alan Tracy's mind as he stared upwards. White and very shiny; the tiles reflecting the dim electric light. He blinked slowly. His eyes felt strangely heavy. The ceiling began to swim before his gaze and he struggled to focus. He blinked again. The ceiling really was very white.

It suddenly occurred to Alan that he had no idea where he was. Not in his room … somehow he knew this, although when he tried to conjure up an image of his bedroom, his mind remained blank. It was a realisation that should have unsettled him but for some reason, it didn't. It just didn't seem to matter. He was curious and yet …

He blinked again and the white lines of the ceiling shimmered. His eyelids began to droop. All concern about where he was faded as his eyelashes fluttered close.

* * *

When Alan woke for a second time, the ceiling looked even whiter than before. The electric light was much brighter now, and as Alan gazed up at the ceiling he could seen his own blurred reflection. A mass of blond curls, an oval blob of a face and a pale purple rectangle of blanket. The image seemed to come from a great distance away and the longer he focused on it, the hazier it became. His eyes began to drift downwards, tracing the lines between the tiles. Something tugged at the edge of his vision. There was some kind of object there … not something attached to the ceiling, but something lower down, something closer to his face. It seemed to be coming from the region of his mouth.

Alan swallowed reflexively. His throat muscles tightened around the obstruction and they began to spasm. The object shook as he fought the urge to cough. The feeling of something blocking his windpipe sent a spasm of fear through Alan – the first real emotion he had experienced since waking. There was something in his throat, something alien, something that wasn't supposed to be there. It was choking him and he struggled for breath, fighting against the intrusion. His hands – how he had forgotten about his hands until this moment? – his hands tugged weakly at the offending object. The lethargy that had marked him since waking began to fade under the weight of the panic that was swelling up inside of him. He couldn't breathe. This object was going to kill him. It was going to worm its way down his throat, stealing the life right out of him while he lay, helpless. His throat spasmed again and he retched, hoping to force the intruder out. If only his hands would work properly then he could – but they wouldn't grip the object. His fingers felt fat and clumsy as they fought for some kind of purchase. Why wouldn't his hands work? What was wrong with them?

Suddenly there was a flurry of movement nearby and a face entered Alan's vision. Its mouth was moving frantically but the words seemed to be coming from a great distance and he couldn't understand them. Hands covered his own, effortlessly pulling them away from the object and pinning them down onto the bed. Alan tried to fight back but his body wouldn't co-operate. He gagged, trying to force the obstruction out of his throat.

* * *

"I don't know!"

Three little words and yet they were quickly becoming Virgil's mantra. First they had been repeated a hundred times to his father, then to John, and now it was Fermat who had approached and asked him what had happened between Scott and Gordon.

At his sharp reply, the younger man looked crestfallen and apologetic. "I'm s-s-sor-sor –"

Virgil ran a hand through his hair. He suddenly felt impossibly weary. "No, Fermat, it's me who's sorry. I shouldn't have bitten your head off like that. It's just … it's been a long day."

Fermat blinked up at him from behind his wide-framed, blue glasses. "Did something go wrong with the rescue?"

Virgil sighed. "In some ways I wish it had. At least then I'd know what the hell was going on around here. No, it was textbook stuff. We went in, put out the fire and saved the children. There were no serious injuries, no problems, nothing."

"Just Scott missing a d-debriefing, Gordon trying to d-d-dr-dro _kill_ himself in the pool and Tin-Tin disappearing."

Virgil smiled wryly. "Yeah. Just that. And everyone seems to think _I _should have the answers. Sometimes I hate living on an island. Everyone always knows where you are. Hiding takes so much more effort."

"You could c-come with me to visit Alan," Fermat offered. "It's nice and q-qu-quie _peaceful_ down there."

Virgil considered Fermat thoughtfully. Overwhelmed by his family's grief, he'd never really considered how Alan's condition was affecting the other occupants of the island. Tin-Tin and Fermat … they were Alan's best friends. This had to be as hard for them as for Alan's immediate family. "You spend a lot of time with Alan, huh?"

Fermat shrugged awkwardly. "I d-don't like him to be alone when you guys are a-a-aw-awa _out_ on a r-rescue." His cheeks coloured and he added defensively, "He g-gets lonely."

It was time like these that Virgil was forcibly reminded just how young Fermat, Alan and Tin-Tin still were. Not even out of their teens, no matter how matured they acted or how much responsibility they took upon themselves. Not for the first time he wondered how different all their lives would be if his father hadn't conceived International Rescue.

"Let's go see, Alan." Virgil patted the smaller boy on the shoulder. "Maybe he can provide some insight into the Gordon- Scott situation."

Fermat grinned and Virgil followed him down the corridor towards the medical centre. The younger man reached the entrance first and pushed the door open. When he stopped in the doorway, Virgil assumed he was bracing himself for another session with Alan, but as he drew closer, Fermat whirled around, his face a mixture of shock and delight.

"Virgil!" he burst out, gesturing frantically at the room. His face contorted as the words he usually struggled with, escaped him completely.

Alarmed, Virgil shouldered past him and ran into the room. It only took a moment for his disbelieving gaze to take everything in, then his instincts kicked in and he sprung into action. He lunged forward and captured Alan's hands where they were attempting to dislodge the ventilator tube. His brother struggled weakly against him. "Alan? Alan, you have to calm down. I'll take the tube out, but you have to relax first." Alan didn't seem to hear him and continued to fight. Virgil pinned his brother's arms down and looked back over his shoulder at Fermat. "Get my Dad," he ordered and the other boy scampered out of the room.

Virgil turned back to Alan. His brother's eyes were open but they weren't focusing on anything. His arms flexed against their restraints but Virgil didn't relax his grip. "Alan, listen to me. You _have _to calm down."

Either Alan heard him this time, or he simply ran out of strength, because he sagged back against the bed and stopped trying to free his arms. Virgil held on for several more seconds and then released his brother's arms. Pulling back, he moved around to the head of the bed and took the ventilation tube gently in one hand.

"Alan? Look, I know it feels weird to have something blocking your throat, but I promise you, the tube's been helping you. You were intubated – and it's been helping you breathe. Now, I'm going to remove it, but I just have to check your breathing first." Reaching over, Virgil's hand hovered over the ventilator. It was customary to have some kind of 'weaning off' period, but Alan was so distressed by the presence of the tube and Virgil was reluctant to drug him. _If I put him on a mask quickly …_

Virgil switched off the ventilator. Alan's chest continued to rise and fall naturally and, slowly, his racing heartbeat began to stabilise.

_He's breathing on his own. He's awake, and breathing on his own!_

The words brought a smile to Virgil's face as he monitored Alan's condition carefully. "Looking good, Sprout. I think you might just be able to pull this off. Okay, now we deal with the tube. I'm going to pull it out on three, okay? And I want you to cough as hard as you can. One, two, _three_." As his younger brother coughed weakly, Virgil withdrew the tube from his throat. Putting it on the side, he picked up an oxygen mask and slipped it over Alan's head. "To help you breathe," he explained as he worked. "Just until I can get you checked over."

Alan didn't reply, but at least he wasn't struggling anymore. He lay limply against the pillow, watching Virgil with hazy eyes. Virgil began to check his vitals, talking distractedly as he did so.

"I can't tell you how good it is to see your eyes open again. The past few months haven't been a lot of fun, little brother. You've missed all the excitement, lying here. Lucky you." He picked up a penlight and shone it in Alan's eyes, checking the pupils. They reacted normally to the light – a good sign. "Gordon and Scott have been at each throats again – it's becoming pretty common these days. Dad seems to think I have some kind of brotherly insight into the great big mess …" Virgil turned to check the foley catheter and the feeding tube that Alan was currently hooked up to. "God knows what's going on – actually, I hope he does because I haven't got a clue. And no one's talking, which makes everything that much more fun. Maybe I should just employ the old 'shutting-them-in-a-locked-room-until-they-sort-their-differences-out'. What do you think, Al … ?" He trailed off as he turned back to the bed.

Alan had twisted onto his side and curled up. His breathing was regular and his eyes were closed.

Virgil watched his sleeping brother for a moment, ignoring the tendril of uncertainty that continued to hover inside him about the true extent of Alan's condition. His brother was awake. And he was going to be all right.

Whatever else they discovered … well, they would deal with it _if_ it happened.

* * *

Jeff was talking quietly to John when Fermat came bursting into the lounge. The boy was so out of breath that for several moments, he could do nothing but wheeze and fumbled with his inhaler. After taking a deep puff of his medication, Fermat drew himself up and gasped out a single word with unusual clarity.

"Alan!"

Jeff was on his feet in an instant. He didn't need to hear anymore. There was only one reason that Fermat would be here in such a state.

Something had happened to Alan.

"_Dad_ –" John began, his face creased with concern.

"I'll call you as soon as I know anything," Jeff assured him before cutting the connection and hurrying out of the room.

As he ran down the corridor towards the medical centre, Jeff fought to control the fear that was threatening to choke him. Images of Alan in pain, Alan _dying_, surged into his mind. He shouldn't have left his son alone down there during the rescue. He shouldn't have brought him to the island in the first place. He shouldn't have expected Brains and Virgil to be able to cope –

Jeff pulled up short, for one crazy moment certain that he had somehow stepped into the wrong medical centre. For the still, silent figure of his youngest son had lain for so long, there was a different man. He looked the same, but the ventilator tube that had obscured his face had been replaced by an oxygen mask. And he was lying on his side.

"Virgil?" The word spoke volumes.

"Dad – it's okay." Virgil turned from where he was putting away the ventilator equipment. He was smiling. "_Alan's_ okay."

"Is he – ?"

"He's awake."

* * *

Fifty lengths.

Gordon shot through the water like a scythe. One, two, three, _breathe._ One, two, three, _breathe._

Fifty-one lengths.

His arms were beginning to ache now; a dull, throbbing that he knew he'd feel in the morning.

Fifty-two lengths.

It would be so easy to just climb out of the pool and retreat to his room. There was even a towel on the patio, waiting patiently. But relinquishing the pool meant returning to the outside world. It meant _thinking._

Fifty-three lengths.

Swimming was all about not thinking. Keep your head down. Concentrate on the stroke. On disturbing the water as little as possible.

Fifty-four lengths.

Not thinking was good right now. Not thinking meant not tracking Scott down and doing something he'd regret. Not thinking meant not being yelled at by his dad for missing the debriefing.

Fifty-five lengths.

Not thinking meant not worrying about Alan.

"G-Gordon?"

Fifty-six lengths.

Turn and thrust away from the wall. Pace yourself. One, two, three, _breathe._

Fifty-seven lengths.

"Gordon? C-can you hear m-me?"

Fingers together, legs straight. Arms fluid.

"G-Gordon!"

Fifty-eight –

Something solid struck his head. Gordon started, spluttering as his mouth filled with water. He wiped his eyes and cast about wildly. "What – ?"

Fermat was standing by the side of the swimming pool, his sides heaving. An upside down sun-umbrella floated past Gordon. The younger boy had thrown it into the pool to attract his attention.

"Are you _crazy_?"

"G-Gordon –"

"You know what, Fermat? I _really_ don't have time for this right now."

"Alan's awake!"

"Can you just – what?"

"Alan. He's a-a-aw-awa _he woke up_!"

Suddenly fifty-eight lengths seemed like the perfect number.

* * *

There were times when John _loathed_ being on Thunderbird 5.

For the most highly advanced communication satellite in the world it could be remarkably hard to get a little piece of information – such as what the hell was happening to his little brother down on Tracy Island.

He'd tried contacting his Dad, he'd tried Virgil, he'd tried Gordon – he'd even tried Scott. There had been no reply. It was like some kind of communications blackout had come over the island.

It was only when he thought to try Tin-Tin and Fermat's wrist-comms that he got a result. After a couple of moments, Fermat's round face appeared on the screen.

"So there _is _someone alive down there. I was starting to wonder. Fermat, what's going on?"

The younger boy began to say something but John cut him off. "Is Alan alright?"

Fermat nodded. He opened his mouth to speak but once again, John beat him to it. "He's awake."

It was more of a statement than a question. After in, in John's analytical mind it was the only explanation that made sense.

Alan was awake.

John had never wanted to be down on Earth so strongly.

* * *

The knocking on his door was polite but persistent.

Scott scowled and rolled over, wincing as the muscles in his leg protested. He should have known that ignoring the summons of his wrist-comm could only mean further trouble. This was probably his dad come to read him the riot act for being so unprofessional. Maybe if he just ignored it then whoever was out there would give up and go away.

The knocking continued. It's dull, repetitive thump started to make his headache. Cursing his persistent visitor, he jumped off the bed and limped across the room. Slapping the door release, he growled, "_What_?"

In the corridor beyond, Fermat blanched.

Upon seeing the nervous young man, Scott relaxed and sagged against the doorframe. Whatever Fermat wanted it wasn't likely to have anything to do with the mission, or worse, with Gordon.

"What is it?"

"I'm s-sorry to b-bother you. I t-t-tr-tri _attempted_ to c-contact you on your wrist-com, b-but I didn't g-g-ge- _receive _a reply."

"I switched it off. Look, Fermat, what is this about?"

The younger man shrank under Scott's unbending stare but his voice remained firm, even excited. "Alan's a-a-aw-awa _woken_ _up_."

Scott blinked. Of all the things he had been expecting, this had been at the very bottom of the list. "Alan's awake?"

"Y-Yes –"

Before Fermat had even finished speaking, Scott had shouldered past him and was hurrying down the corridor, all pain forgotten.

* * *

When Fermat finally returned to the medical centre, (now so completely out of breath that words had become an impossibility) those members of the Tracy family that were currently Earth-bound were gathered around Alan's bed. Virgil was adjusting one of the machines that Alan was hooked up to, his brow furrowed with concentration. Jeff was sitting beside the bed, Alan's right hand clasped between both of his. Gordon was bouncing up and down at the end of the bed, scattering droplets of water across the covers, torn between excitement and worry. And Scott was leaning against the wall; his hands folded across his chest and his face a mystery. They were all watching Virgil expectantly.

Fermat was afraid to breathe; the tension in the room was unbearable. Unfortunately, not-breathing only served to exacerbate his asthma and he ended up wheezing like a stuck frog.

Suddenly all eyes were on him. Fermat's face turned as red as Thunderbird 3. "S-sorry," he muttered.

At least his awkward apology broke the heavy atmosphere. Gordon blew out his breath explosively, Jeff shifted in the chair and said, "Well?" and Scott pushed himself away from the wall.

"This is stupid … Virgil, what's the story?"

Virgil turned from the machine, wiped his hands on his trousers and then faced his family squarely. "He's out of the coma. His vitals are stable. I removed the ventilator and he's breathing on his own."

"Then why is he still asleep?" Gordon demanded.

"Gordon, he's been in a coma for the past two months. It's not something you just shake off in a day. It's going to take for him to recover."

"How much time?" Gordon wanted to know.

Virgil shrugged, looking down at his sleeping brother. "Impossible to tell. I'm going to ring Doctor Makura later, see what she would advise."

"Will he have to go back to the hospital?" Jeff asked quietly.

"I don't know. He's not out of the woods yet, by any account. That he's got this far … frankly it's amazing."

"But he's going to be okay?" Gordon butted in.

Virgil looked uncomfortable. He toyed with the light in his hands. "I'm not a doctor. I can't say for certain –"

"But in your opinion?" Jeff pressed.

Virgil wavered.

"C'mon Virg!" Gordon wheedled.

Virgil sighed. "Fine. In my opinion, _if_ there's no neurological damage, or behavioural difficulties, and Alan's condition remains stable … I can't see any reason why he shouldn't return to full health._ Eventually._"

Gordon cheered, his previously bad humour completely evaporated. His face split into a wide grin, the like of which hadn't been seen on Tracy Island since Alan's accident. It was an expression so full of fierce joy that it was instantly infectious and Fermat found himself beaming madly as he looked around the room. Jeff looked impossibly weary and yet full of hope at the same time. Virgil's eyes betrayed his worry while his mouth curved in response to his brother's. Even the previously stoic Scott was smiling, albeit slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting upwards.

Watching all from the doorway, Fermat felt a peculiar surge of contentment. Somehow he knew that everything was going to be all right now. Alan was going to wake up, Gordon and Scott were going to _make_ up, and International Rescue was going to save a hundred thousand more lives. Equilibrium had been restored to Tracy Island.

Suddenly, a sour note intruded on Fermat's otherwise tranquil thoughts. He looked around the room as a particular absence struck him.

Where was Tin-Tin?

* * *

Tin-Tin had been picking her way through the undergrowth when she'd heard the raised voices. Curious despite herself, she hurried down the twisting jungle path, emerging on the far side of the pool just in time to see Fermat clumsily throw an open sun-umbrella into the pool. She was too far away to hear what passed between her small friend and Gordon, and before she could move within earshot, Gordon pulled himself out of the pool and ran, dripping, into the house. An expression of exasperation shivered over Fermat's face and then he too stepped inside the villa.

Tin-Tin's natural curiosity took a hold of her and before she had thought about what she was doing, she had skirted the pool and followed Fermat inside.

She didn't have to go far; for some reason, Fermat had stopped in the middle of the lounge. His back was facing her, so she couldn't see what he was doing. Of Gordon there was no sign.

" – is_ someone alive down there. I was starting to wonder. Fermat, what's going on_?"

It was John's voice – but why was Fermat talking to John? She padded soundlessly across the carpet and was about to call out to her bespectacled friend when John's voice sounded again.

"_Is Alan alright_?"

Tin-Tin froze. What about Alan? In front of her, Fermat nodded firmly and the shadow of fear that had gripped her heart began to fade.

"_He's_ _awake_."

The breath caught in Tin-Tin's throat. She stared blankly at the blue t-shirted back of Fermat, not hearing the end of the brief exchange between him and John.

Alan … Alan was awake.

It was the news she had been waiting for for so long. It was a conversation she had _dreamed_ about overhearing. If there had been anything in her life that she had wanted more, Tin-Tin couldn't recall it. Just hearing those words should have sent her down to the medical centre at a run.

So why did she feel like the last place she wanted to be right now was by Alan's side?

Oblivious to her internal struggle, Fermat huffed and continued out of the lounge at an ungainly trot. He hadn't even noticed she'd been there.

Tin-Tin's feet carried her in the other direction before her mind had managed to form any kind of coherent thought. Before she knew what was happening, she was running full-tilt back into the jungle, branches slapping her face and cutting her arms as she thrust herself through the dense fauna. Tears blurred her vision and the bright colours of the jungle began to waver. She blinked furiously and the trees swam before her eyes. Suddenly her feet hit something hard and she pitched forward, landing hard on her hands and knees and scraping the soft skin.

For several long moments she lay where she had fallen, her breath coming in wild pants and hot, angry tears trickling down her cheeks. She was suddenly, explosively furious. She wanted to beat her fists against the rough jungle floor that had grazed her knees. She wanted to rip the branches from the trees that had lashed at her face. And more than anything, she wanted to scream at Alan Tracy for putting her through pure hell for the last two months.

The anger gave her the strength to pull herself to her feet. With deliberate care, she brushed the dirt off her clothes, pausing only to bite back a cry when her hand brushed a particularly large gash on her bare knee. Then she saw to her hair, tucking any wayward strands back behind her ears and pulling the rest back into a secure ponytail. Appearance taken care of, Tin-Tin straightened and began walking purposefully through the jungle. The foliage seemed to almost part before her and it wasn't long before she had emerged on the cliff overlooking the beach. Her 'spot'; it seemed to welcome her with open arms. However, instead of embracing the familiar beautiful view, Tin-Tin cast about the area. Her eyes alighted on a lump of rock about twice the size of her hand. She stooped and lifted it from the ground, bouncing the weight in her hands and admiring its shape. She took a deep, controlled breath, and then in a flurry of moment, she ran to the cliff's edge and pitched the rock as far as she could, screaming out her frustration, pain, loss and helpless fury. The small projectile sailed out towards the ocean, before sinking slowly and then finally hitting the beach. It rolled down towards the ocean and eventually fell still, half in and half out of the water.

* * *

Several hours later and the sun was sinking over the horizon, its crimson rays rippling across the ocean like a sea of fire. It would have been a spectacular view from Tin-Tin's cliff-top refuge, had anyone been there to see it. As it was, the sandy lip of the cliff was deserted but for the ants that toiled underneath its surface.

Over a mile away, and many metres lower, the door of the medical centre opened. A slight figure slipped inside the darkened room, eyes never leaving the quietly sleeping figure in the bed. The intruder crept skirted the bed and sank into the chair. Reaching out, she turned the sleeper's hand over and linked her fingers with his. With her other hand, she brushed the sandy hair back from his forehead, her fingers stroking the soft skin of his forehead. He stirred slightly at her touch and his fingers tightened slightly around hers.

"Sleep," Tin-Tin whispered, settling herself more comfortably in the chair. "I'll be here when you wake up."

And as an afterthought, " … I love you, Alan."


	15. Chapter Fifteen: The Road to Recovery

**Chapter Fifteen: The Road to Recovery**

Alan Tracy had done many difficult things in his life. He'd grown up without a mother, in the shadow of four strong-willed older brothers. He'd helped to save the world at age fifteen. He'd survived High School.

He never would have imagined that getting out of bed would have become the fourth entry on the list.

Gritting his teeth, he willed his stupid body to move. His hands balled into fists, his legs shifted slightly towards the edge of the bed but aside from that, nothing else happened. Alan strained, his face turning red from the effort and his legs finally slid across the bed and thumped onto the floor. The sudden drop of his deadened legs pulled him off balance and he almost pitched forward onto his face. Swearing loudly, Alan gripped the side of the bed and came to a standstill, his legs on the floor and his arms struggling to support his bodyweight. He wavered there for a moment and then the muscles in his arms gave out and he slid to the grown with a crash, knocking the clock off the table as he fell.

"Alan?"

Seething with frustration, Alan tried to push himself up again but this time his arms couldn't even raise him off the ground. He sagged back against the bed, panting. His blond hair fell into his eyes but he didn't even have the energy to push it aside.

"Alan!"

In the next instant, Virgil was there, strong hands wrapping around his waist and heaving him back up onto the bed. "What the hell do you think you're playing at?" he demanded, straightening the bed-sheets and retrieving the digital clock from where it had fallen.

Alan glowered at him. "I was just trying to get out of bed."

"Alan, you know it's too soon. You can't keep pushing yourself like this. You want to get better? You've got to give your body time to build up its strength again."

Alan sighed and stared up at the ceiling. It was the same spiel he'd been hearing since he'd finally awoken from the coma. _Take things easy. Don't hurt yourself. You need to give your body time to heal._ They'd even put a watch on him for the first few weeks – to make sure he didn't try and sneak out of bed before they thought he was 'ready'.

He was so _sick _of it.

He'd barely had a moment to himself since waking up. And then, even when he _was_ left alone, he couldn't actually _do_ anything except lie in the bed like some useless lump. Every day it was the same old, boring ritual. Wake up, do his exercises. Eat lunch, do some more exercises. Eat dinner, do some more exercises and then go back to sleep again. All from the comfort of the same dull bed, in the same dull room, with the same dull faces. Day after day after day.

And Virgil wondered why he tried to escape.

"Alan," Virgil pulled a chair over and settled next to the bed. "Alan, you've gotta stop doing this."

" 'I'm just slowing my recovery'," Alan mimicked sourly.

Virgil's sympathetic expression faded. "I don't just say that for my own good, you know. It's true. You've been in a _coma_, Alan. You're limbs have atrophied through lack of use. You need to build up your muscles again."

"And how long's that gonna take?"

"It's not an exact science. Could be weeks, could be months."

_Great_, Alan thought bitterly. "So I could be stuck here until I'm thirty."

"Or you could still be in the coma," Virgil returned shortly. "Maybe you should be grateful for what you've got and should stop moaning."

"And maybe you should try sitting in his damn room, each and every day," Alan snapped.

"Oh grow up, Alan!" Virgil stood up, looking irritated. "Or next time you fall I won't be here to pick you up again." Casting one last glance at his younger brother, he strode out of the room.

Alan glared after him, full of self-righteous anger and trying to ignore the fact that he knew he'd just acted like an idiot. What did Virgil know about anything? He wasn't the one who'd just woken up from a coma.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Alan's anger had completely faded and he regretting snapping at his brother. Virgil had only been trying to help him after all, and as the family member that was in charge of his recovery and exercises, Virgil had been getting the brunt of his frustrations recently. He figured he probably owed his brother an apology.

The problem was unless Virgil returned sometime soon, he wasn't going to get one.

Alan sighed again and rolled over clumsily, pressing his cheek into the cool fabric of the pillow. Things had been … difficult since he had woken up. His family had been smothering him, asking questions, checking his health. In one more person asked him how he was feeling, Alan thought he was going to scream. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate his family's concern … the problem was, he didn't really understand what they'd gone through during the last few months.

Waking up and finding that he'd missed a chunk of his eighteenth year had been a shock. To make matters worse, his memory of events leading up to the accident were sketchy at best, so he struggled to understand exactly what had happened. With some prompting from his brother's he'd remember the call-out to Wales, but the actual details of the rescue escaped him and he'd even lost some of the days leading up to the accident. Even now, several weeks on, things were still hazy in his mind, like memories of childhood that he couldn't quite hold on to. And as with childhood memories, half the time he couldn't work out whether he was recalling a true event, or whether it was just something one of his brother's had told him.

Then, of course, there was the other confusing central factor in his life. Then there was Tin-Tin.

Something was going on with Tin-Tin. She'd been acting weirdly since he'd woken up. At first Alan had thought it was probably because she didn't know how to act around him but as the days had passed and her behaviour hadn't changed, he'd begun to think there was something more to it. Sometimes he'd catch her watching him with an unreadable expression on her face. Other times she'd spend hours alone with him, only to avoid him for the next few days. It was maddening, but every time he tried to talk to her about it, she changed the subject. A comment that Gordon had made a few days before had made Alan wonder if something had happened between him and Tin-Tin before the accident but if it had, it was one of those memories that refused to be found. If he wanted to know what was really going on, he was going to have to pin Tin-Tin down the next time she came to visit him. Maybe he could rig some way to lock the door mechanism from his bed, so he could stop her leaving the room until she would talk about it …

A knock on the doorframe caught Alan's attention. He looked up to see Gordon grinning at him. Alan found himself grinning back as his copper-haired brother sidled into the room. It was difficult to be moody when Gordon was around.

"Hey Al. How's it hanging?"

Alan waved one of his hands weakly before letting it flop back onto the bed. "Thrilling as always."

"That good, huh?" Gordon dropped down onto the bed beside him, taking care not to sit on his outstretched legs. "Virg said you took another dive."

Alan pulled a face. "Bet he went straight to Dad, didn't he? Or even worse – Scott."

"Nah – I'm pretty sure he just told me. He asked me to take your physio session this morning."

A wave of guilt flashed through Alan. He must have really pissed Virgil off.

"How mad is he?"

"You remember that time you put those beetles in his piano?"

"He's _that _mad?"

Gordon leaned forward and ruffled his hair. "Nah, not really." Alan scowled at him but Gordon merely grinned. "He just thought it would be a good idea if I took over for today."

Alan watched his brother face. For all Gordon's light-hearted words and joking around, there was an edge to his actions that Alan wasn't used to. It was something that he'd recognised in all of his family since he'd woken up; a slight hesitancy, veiled looks from the corner of eyes, carefully chosen words. Only someone who knew them as well as he did would notice. Alan wondered if his brothers or dad were even aware of it. And more importantly, what did it mean?

"So you ready for your workout?" When Alan didn't reply, he became concerned. "You okay, Al?"

Alan's eyes traced the lines of the ceiling tiles. "How bad was it?"

"What?"

"When I was … it was really serious wasn't it?"

Gordon was silent. When Alan looked across at him, the edge was back.

Gordon caught him looking and tried to shrug it off with a smile. "I've always said you're a deep sleeper, Al."

"Gordon –"

"Anyway, I haven't got all day so are we going to do this or not?"

"Gordon – just tell me."

Gordon's face dropped, the edge fading. For the first time Alan caught a glimpse of just how exhausted Gordon was – just how much this whole horrible experience had taken out of his fun-loving brother.

And with that growing knowledge, he no longer needed to hear Gordon's answer.

"It was serious, okay?_ Really _serious." Gone was the trademark smile. "You can't even imagine … Two months, Al. Two months of not knowing if you were ever going to wake up or – " Gordon cut himself off and dropped into silence. Alan shifted uncomfortably, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut.

"When I walked into that room and saw you lying there …" Gordon continued slowly, " … you know, Al, I've never been so scared. Not even when I had my hydrofoil accident, or when the Hood had all of us trapped on Thunderbird 5. Then thought that you might die –"

Suddenly Alan didn't want to hear anymore. Gordon's honesty was too much. It forced him to confront his own mortality and the realisation of how close he'd come to death terrified him.

Gordon seemed to reach the same understanding because as their eyes met, he grinned weakly. "Look at me getting all emotional. I'm never gonna live this down, am I?"

Alan shook his head.

Gordan patted him on the shoulder. "Come on then, Sprout, up and at 'em. Your muscles aren't gonna get any stronger by you just sitting there."

And just like that, the conversation was over. Alan was glad – it wasn't something he was looking to talk about ever again. But, he concluded as he heaved himself upright, it had been good to hear. Maybe now he could finally start to understand where his family was coming from.

* * *

Tin-Tin was sitting in the lounge, trying not to think about Alan, when the object of her non-thoughts emerged out onto the patio, Gordon hovering protectively behind him. Alan was hunched over a walking frame, moving step by tiny step, his face a picture of concentration.

Tin-Tin's fingers tightened around the magazine that she hadn't really been reading. Her dark eyes rose over the top of the glossy pages and she watched as Alan moved painstaking across towards a pair of sunloungers.

Footsteps sounded behind Tin-Tin and she wasn't surprised when she felt the gentle pressure of her father's hand on her shoulder. For a moment they both watched quietly as Alan and Gordon continued to move across the patio.

"There is something on your mind, my daughter." It was an observation, not a question.

Tin-Tin looked up at her father. She could never hide anything from him.

"I would think that it has something to do with Mr Alan."

Almost against her own will, Tin-Tin's gaze returned to the scene outside. She sighed, knowing it would do her no good to deny it. "You would be right."

"He is the cause of much worry."

"He's been through a lot," Tin-Tin agreed.

"There has been much worry for his family, yes. But there has also been much worry for you."

Outside, Alan dropped heavily down onto one of the sunloungers. Gordon dragged the other one over and sprawled across it.

"I don't know what I would have done if he had died," Tin-Tin whispered.

"You care about him."

"Yes."

"Yet he hurts you."

Surprised, Tin-Tin twisted in her seat so that she could see her father's face. His expression was a serene as always but she detected a slight tightening around his mouth, which indicated he was concerned.

"I don't understand."

"You have sorrowed much these past months. Always your sorrow is caused by Mr Alan."

"He couldn't help what happened," Tin-Tin protested. "The accident –"

"I speak of a time before the accident."

Tin-Tin fell silent, recognising the truth of her father's words. It had been a difficult time – the kiss, the resulting confusion …

"And of a time after it."

"Father?"

"You still sorrow, my daughter. I see the pain in your eyes when you watch him."

Again, an observation she could not deny – and worse, one she couldn't really explain. Ever since Alan had woken up, she had been expecting him to come and talk to her about the state of their relationship; she had been waiting for him to confirm that his feelings were the same as hers. Instead, Alan had remained distant and unresponsive. Now it was all Tin-Tin could do to watch him from afar; spending time alone in his company was becoming too painful.

"He hurts you, my child, and this angers me."

"No, father –" Tin-Tin caught his hands in hers, as if to physically restrain him from approaching Alan, " – he is still ill, still recovering. That he does not feel as I do … it is no fault of his."

"If it is as you say then I believe he is a fool." Kyrano stroked Tin-Tin's dark hair, bringing his hand around to cup her chin. "You are as sweet and beautiful as any woman I have ever seen."

Tin-Tin blushed. Beyond them, the sound of laughter caught reached her ears and she looked back over her shoulder. Out on the patio, Gordon was waving his arms, a brilliant smile on his face and Alan was smiling back. His expression was so open, so happy that Tin-Tin's heart began to thump unpleasantly.

"I wish that Alan agreed with you, Father."

"I am glad that he does not," her father responded, surprising her, "for a fear should you walk down that path, he will hurt you again. To be careless with life and love – it is his nature."

_You judge him too harshly, _Tin-Tin thought privately as her eyes studied the familiar lines of Alan's face. _There is more depth to Alan than anyone has seen._

_If only he would let me in._

* * *

The moment that Alan laughed, Gordon knew that everything was going to be okay again. Such a small thing and yet it was like the shadow that had been hanging over Tracy Island had finally dissipated, and the sun had re-emerged. Somehow, by just seeing the old, familiar grin on Alan's face, he knew he had his brother back.

Gordon was so intent on this startling realisation that he lost track of whatever story he had been telling. Alan gave him an odd look. "You okay there, Gordy?"

"Uh – yeah. Yeah, so then I put the paintbrush back in Virg's room to throw Scott off the scent and – ah – Virgil got chewed out and I got off Scott-free."

Alan laughed again. "I always wondered about that one."

"So did I."

Both brothers jumped, Alan wincing, most likely in response to his aching muscles. Gordon whipped around to see Scott standing in the entrance of the lounge. He must have come down the stairs without them noticing.

He stiffened unconsciously upon seeing his older brother. He and Scott had been skirting carefully around one another since the night of Alan's collapse. Although part of Gordon admitted that the whole situation was a little ridiculous, and that, as grown men, they really should be able to work out their differences as adults, but another, more stubborn part insisted that Scott owed him an apology and Gordon'd be damned if he'd break the stalemate before he got one. Besides, some of the things he's said – well they'd been perfectly true and he wasn't looking to take them back.

Beside him, Alan relaxed. "Jeez, Scott, you should wear a bell. You scared the life out of me. Are you looking to put me back in a coma?"

"That's not funny." Scott stepped out on to the patio, his expression disapproving.

Alan had the grace to look abashed. Gordon rolled his eyes, wondering when the penny would drop and Scott would stop taking life so seriously. Probably about the time that hell froze over.

"How're you feeling, Alan?"

And here came the Mother Hen routine. Gordon watched Alan's face, taking note of the flicker of irritation that danced across it.

"I'm fine."

"And the physio?"

"Good."

"Virg mentioned yesterday he was gonna try a new set of exercises. How'd they work out?"

Alan shifted awkwardly. "Dunno."

Scott frowned.

Gordon felt he should offer some kind of explanation. "Virg didn't take him for physio this morning. I did."

Scott's eyebrows rose so far they almost disappeared beneath his hairline. Gordon bristled at the instantly negative reaction. "What, you don't think I'm capable or something?" he demanded.

"I didn't say that," Scott's reply was infuriatingly calm.

"No, you just implied it neatly, with your carefully raised eyebrows."

"What are you talking about?"

Gordon's irritation grew. "And here I was thinking subtlety was more along John's line of thinking. I'm impressed, Scott, really."

"You know, Gordon, that clever tongue of yours can be really annoying sometimes. I didn't even say anything and you're jumping to conclusions."

"You didn't have to! You've really got that Dad-imitation down pat – one raised eyebrow and I know exactly what you're thinking."

Scott's expression hardened. "I wish you'd just get over whatever grudge it is you're hanging on to because honestly, I'm getting pretty sick of being treated like dirt. Just grow up, Gordon." He turned on his heel and stalked back into the villa.

Gordon watched him go, anger simmering along every vein in his body. Beside him, Alan shifted and he looked over to see his brother staring at him as if he'd suddenly grown two heads.

"What the hell was all that about?"

"Nothing," Gordon said shortly.

"Didn't look like nothing. You guys never argue –"

"Just leave it, Alan."

"What aren't you telling me?"

"I said it's nothing." Gordon's irritation boiled over. "And you know what? Even if it was something, it's none of your business. We're not ten anymore, Alan. I don't have to tell you everything."

The hurt expression on his little brother's face brought him up short. Why was he taking his anger out on Alan? Gordon sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Al, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you, I just … Look, it's nothing okay?"

Alan looked unconvinced.

"Scott and me, there're just a few things that we –"

As if to compound the misery of the situation, the warning klaxon chose that moment to sound. Gordon swore fluently in a number of different languages. He stood up quickly, ignoring the impressed look on Alan's face and cast about for someone to help him. There was no way he could leave Alan here, alone – especially not right next to a nice, open pool of water. His Dad, not to mention to rest of the anxious Tracy family, would kill him.

Gordon's eyes alighted upon the slight figure that was rising to her feet in the lounge.

"Tin-Tin!"

The girl turned around, her cheeks colouring. Gordon wondered how much of the argument she'd just heard. He jogged across to her, hanging around the edge of the glass door of the lounge. "Could you look after Alan for me? Get him back to his room safely?"

"But the rescue –"

"Unless it's a big one, I doubt we'll need your help, honey. I'll explain the situation to Dad."

"But –"

"Thanks Tin-Tin. I owe you one." He turned back to his brother. "See you later, Al!"

Without giving either of them the chance to reply, Gordon hurried across the lounge and disappeared into the interior of the villa.

* * *

Trapped, Tin-Tin had no choice but to join Alan out on the patio. To walk away would have been rude and besides, Gordon was right. It was too dangerous to leave Alan on his own right now.

The conversation with her father still fresh in her mind, Tin-Tin stepped out into the warm sunlight with a false show of confidence. Her father was right – she _was_ pretty and kind – and if Alan couldn't see that … well then her father had been right again: he was a fool.

She was done with skirting carefully around him.

"Hey, Tin-Tin."

Of course, that didn't mean she didn't have to be polite. "How are you feeling today?" She seated herself carefully on the sunlounger Gordon had just vacated.

Alan shrugged, looking annoyed. "I wish everyone would stop asking me that."

Which equally didn't mean she had to put up with his self-pity. "Oh stop being such a baby. We're just concerned. Would you rather no one gave a damn?"

Alan looked taken aback. "No, I just … I'm not an invalid, you know? I'm still me."

"Alan, you almost _died_. You can't expect people to just get over that in a couple of days. It's going to take time."

"It's getting on my nerves," Alan muttered.

Tin-Tin felt her patience fading. "Then live with it," she said shortly. "You're lucky to have so much support around you. Even if you don't always deserve it," she added in an undertone.

Unfortunately, the accident didn't seem to have affected Alan's hearing. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Tin-Tin didn't reply. Across from her, Alan shifted with a grimace and pulled himself to the edge of the sunlounger. When she looked up, he was mere inches away from her, his hands resting on his knees.

"Tin-Tin … have I done something wrong?"

Tin-Tin pulled backwards. She couldn't think clearly when his huge blue eyes were so close. "Why would you think that?"

"Well, 'cos you've been acting kind of weird," Alan told her bluntly. "I mean, I know thing's have been tough and all – and pretty much _everyone's_ acting weird around me in some way but … I dunno. There's just seems to be something – something more with you."

" 'Something more with me'," Tin-Tin echoed bitterly, moving back even further. She drew her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around them. "I wonder why that would be, Alan."

Those blue eyes narrowed. "Okay, now you're doing that thing where I'm supposed to guess what you're thinking, aren't you? I hate it when girls do that …"

"You shouldn't have to _guess_ anything."

"Oh, so it's something I've forgotten then? Okay, well, I'm sorry for – for whatever I did, or said. But in light of everything that's happened … can't we just let it go?"

_Let it go._ The words rang in Tin-Tin's mind and she actually felt her heart break. After everything that had happened, everything that she and Alan had shared both before and during the accident and he just wanted to _let it go_?

Tin-Tin wanted to protest. She wanted to demand that he say their kiss meant nothing – but she was too afraid to hear his answer. Besides, she was going to get down on her knees and beg. She was beautiful and she was proud and if Alan Tracy wanted nothing more to do with her then it was his loss.

So, "Fine," she said quietly. "Let's just 'let it go'.

"Great," Alan looked so relieved that it was all Tin-Tin could do to keep the tears from falling. "So, anyway, could you do me a favour?"

Whatever Alan was about to ask was drowned out by the sudden rumbling that came from beneath them. The ground began to tremble and they turned as one to watch as the lower swimming pool slid away and Thunderbird 1 emerged from the depths of the island. As the rocket shot up into the sky, it was joined by the familiar green bulk of Thunderbird 2, and together the two ships streaked off into the distance and were soon out of sight.

"I wish I could go with them," Alan murmured.

_That's what got us into this mess in the first place_, Tin-Tin thought uncharitably. _You and your stupid need to risk your life_.

"Instead, I'm stuck here."

The 'with you' was unspoken but unmistakably meant.

It was at that point that Tin-Tin decided she didn't want to 'let things go' anymore. No, if she had to be stuck here with Mr Alan-Selfish-Tracy then he was going to know exactly what she thought of him for treating her like dirt.

"No."

"No what?" Alan asked distractedly, his eyes still scanning the horizon as if he stared hard enough he would be able to track the Thunderbirds progress.

"No – I'm the one that's stuck."

"Huh?"

"And I'm sick of it," Tin-Tin warmed to her theme, drawing herself up straight and placing her feet firmly on the ground. "I'm sick of feeling like a spare part, of waiting for the smallest sign, the slightest indication that I didn't imagine everything. I'm sick of being walked all over. I'm beautiful and I'm smart and I deserve a damn sight better than this!"

"Tin-Tin –"

"I no longer care if I didn't mean anything to you. Because do you know what? It meant even _less_ to me. And do you know what else, Alan Tracy? I could do _so_ much better- I _deserve_ so much better – than a spoilt child who tramples all over every one else's feelings without even caring!"

Alan gaped at her. Tin-Tin glared back, her dark eyes flashing but a tremendous sense of pride rising up inside of her. Finally speaking her mind … it had been too long in coming.

"So before I 'let it go', Alan, I just want you to know that it was the biggest, most monumental mistake of my life and I'll never understand why I saw something in someone who's so shallow he's almost transparent!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Alan's words only strengthened Tin-Tin's resolve. She laughed coldly, unable to believe that even now he was continuing to deny knowledge and responsibility. "I thought you wanted to 'let it go'."

"I was talking about whatever I'd done to upset you! Not bloody World War Three! Why do you have to be so melodramatic about everything?"

"Melodramatic? _Melodramatic?_ Excuse me, but if my memory serves then _you _were the one who kissed me! You're the one who started this whole mess. And now you won't even accept responsibility … _I can't believe I was ever interested in having some kind of relationship with you_!"

Her words rang out into the empty silence. Alan was staring at her, his face even paler than normal, his blue eyes wide.

"Kiss?" he whispered.

"Yes," Tin-Tin snapped. "Don't try and pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. Even I'm not that gullible, Alan."

"I kissed you?"

"Yes!"

"When?"

"It was before –" Tin-Tin broke off, a horrible realisation dawning over her. "It was before the accident."

Alan paled even further. He rubbed his forehead, looking upset.

Tin-Tin felt sick – hot, embarrassed and her cheeks burned with shame. "You don't … you don't remember do you. You don't remember kissing me."

His blue eyes met hers. "No," he whispered.


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Exposed Emotions

**Chapter Sixteen: Exposed Emotions**

Alan stared at Tin-Tin, hardly able to believe what she'd just told him. Suddenly everything had fallen into place – why Tin-Tin had been so funny with him, why there had been an expectancy about the whole situation – but the answers had opened up a whole new situation that he wasn't sure he knew how to deal with.

He had kissed Tin-Tin. That must be the truth; Tin-Tin had no reason to lie. When had he done? What had he said? Had he just sprung out of nowhere and kissed her, or had there been some kind of lead up to it?

If the situation hadn't been so serious, he would have laughed. His first proper kiss with someone he actually cared about and he couldn't even remember. His brothers would have a field day when they found out.

"You really don't remember, do you?"

Slowly, Alan shook his head.

Tin-Tin looked mortified. "Oh God, I didn't know, I – I'm so sorry, I didn't mean what I said, I was just – I was just upset … I thought you didn't want – that it didn't mean anything and after everything that's happened I just …" Her voice dropped. " … I couldn't take that too."

Alan barely heard her apology. His mind was straining to hard to remember but every time he cast his thoughts back all he could recall was events that had happened some three or four months ago. Of the kiss there was no sign. His memory was truly blank.

"Can you …" He cleared his throat and tried again. "Can you tell me about it?"

"About what happened? You want to me to tell you what happened?"

"Yeah. Um, that is … if you don't mind."

Tin-Tin bowed her head, her dark hair covering her face and hiding her expression. "I can try," she said, almost shyly. "It was about a week before the accident …"

_Tin-Tin stood at the window of her room, gazing out across the island. The sun had risen half an hour before and now it was casting a molten glow across the ocean, turning it into a sea of fire. There were many beautiful sights in the world but Tin-Tin happened to think that this was one of the best of them._

_A knock sounded at her door and, surprised, Tin-Tin turned around. She drew her robe more tightly around herself, wondering who on Earth who be calling for her so early in the morning._

_A blond hair poked around the doorframe before she'd even had a chance to reply._

"_Alan!" she gasped, drawing her robe even tighter as he slipped inside her room. "What are you doing – you can't be in here! What would you father say?"_

_Alan shrugged. "What he won't know won't hurt him, right? Besides, I wanted to ask you something." He flashed her his trademark Tracy grin and Tin-Tin felt her resistance crumble._

"_What?"_

_Alan took a deep breath. "Do you want to come with me to watch the sun rise?" he said in a rush._

_Tin-Tin laughed, pointing out of the window. "I think it's a bit late for that."_

_Alan's face fell. "It's risen already? But John said –" he glanced at Tin-Tin and cut himself off, " – I thought it didn't rise until later."_

"_Alan, the sun rises around six in the morning here."_

"_That's what he – that's what I thought!"_

"_It's six thirty," she told him gently._

"_Oh." _

_Alan looked so disappointed that Tin-Tin took pity on him. "We could still go up to watch it rise further – if you want to, of course."_

"_Yeah! I mean – we could do that I suppose. As I'm already awake."_

_Tin-Tin smiled. "Just let me get ready."_

_She disappeared behind the screen that stood in the corner of her bedroom, casting glances around it every now and then to make sure that Alan was trying to peek. He wasn't; instead her friend was yawning and gave the sun a number of accusatory looks. Stifling a giggle, Tin-Tin pulled her dress over her head, smoothed it down over her hips and then stepped out from behind the screen._

_Alan looked at her expectantly._

"_I've just got to do my hair." She hurried over to her dressing table._

"_It looks alright to me," he grumbled._

_Tin-Tin smiled tolerantly. She quickly ran the brush through her long, silky hair. "There, that'll have to do."_

_Alan muttered something about girls, which Tin-Tin decided she didn't need him to repeat. Instead she headed for the door. "Are you coming?"_

"_I was waiting for you!" Alan complained as he chased her out of the room._

_Outside of the villa the air was still crisp and cool, and the jungle had yet to awaken. A couple of birds called to one another in the treetops but apart from that, the island had never seemed so peaceful. Tin-Tin loved this time of day; she made the effort to rise early and to watch the sunrise at least once a week – which was probably where Alan had got the idea._

_She picked her agile way along the rough path. Behind her, Alan was less sure-footed and every now and then he'd stumbled and swear under his breath. Tin-Tin smiled inwardly; Alan would never be as comfortable with nature as she was, but the fact that he tried, for her sake, was endlessly endearing._

_After a short walk, Tin-Tin's bare feet hit warm sand and she stepped out onto one of the islands long beaches. Before her, the sun was hovering over the surface of the ocean, an orb of brilliant light._

"_Whew." Alan flopped down onto the sand with a sigh of relief. Tin-Tin seated herself more carefully beside him. As she burrowed her feet into the sand, Alan lay back and put his hands behind his head._

_They sat in companionable silence, watching as the sun made its slow journey up to the zenith._

"_Alan," Tin-Tin said eventually._

"_Hmm?"_

"_Thank you for bringing me here."_

_He stirred beside her, sitting up and drawing his knees up to his chest. "It wasn't anything special."_

Yes it was_, she thought. "It was a lovely gesture."_

"_Don't worry about it. Besides, it _is _quite a cool view."_

"_You used to laugh at me when I said I came to watch the sunsets."_

"_I know."_

"_Now it's 'cool'?" She turned to him, a teasing smile on her lips._

"_Maybe I've changed my mind. I am allowed, aren't I?" He looked a bit worried._

_Tin-Tin laughed and leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Oh, Alan, don't ever change."_

_He looked even more confused. "Um, okay. I'll try not to."_

_Tin-Tin closed her eyes. It was times like these that she really treasured. Just her and Alan … it was like the rest of the world no longer existed when she was with him. No one else could make her feel so special, so important. She would have been content to sit for hours with him, like this. There was no need for words._

_When Tin-Tin opened her eyes again, the sun was much higher in the sky. Alan's arm was around her shoulders and his head was resting against hers. Behind them, the jungle was alive with activity._

"_Everyone else will be waking up," Tin-Tin murmured._

"_We should probably go back then."_

_Neither of them moved. _

"_They'll wonder where we are," Tin-Tin tried again._

"_I don't care. Do you?"_

_Tin-Tin pondered the question. She was warm, she was with happy, she was with Alan so … "No. Not really."_

_Alan teased a strand of Tin-Tin's hair, wrapping it around his finger and then letting it go again._

"_My dad'll probably be angry."_

"_He'll get over it," Tin-Tin replied daringly._

_Alan laughed, his shoulder shaking beneath Tin-Tin's head. "I've been a bad influence on you. You never used to be this defiant."_

"_No I didn't, did I?"_

"_You were always such a good girl."_

"_And you were the wild child."_

"_And yet here we are."_

"_Here we are," Tin-Tin agreed._

"_Tin-Tin?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_You'll always be here, won't you?"_

_She pulled away slightly so that she could look up at him. "What kind of a question is that?"_

_Alan wouldn't meet her eyes._

_She reached out and caught his chin, forcing him to look at her. "Alan, what's wrong?"_

_His blue eyes held hers and as she stared into their depths she thought she saw a question there. But before she could fully understand what he was asking her, Alan leaned forward and pressed his lips gently against hers._

_Tin-Tin was so surprised that she sat motionless and just let him kiss her. Her mind was screaming at her – _Alan is kissing you! Alan Tracy is kissing you!_ – but she barely heard it. Instead all she could think about was the pressure of her best friend's lips against hers and oh how good it felt._

_As soon as this thought occurred to her, Tin-Tin was filled with doubt. This wasn't real, it wasn't right, she couldn't understand … where was it coming from? What was Alan thinking? Why was he doing this? What did it all mean?_

_Alan drew back slowly, the question still shining in his eyes. Tin-Tin stared blankly at him and his face darkened with concern._

"_Tin-Tin?"_

_It was as if his words had broken the spell. Suddenly Tin-Tin could move again and the only thing she could think about was getting as far away from Alan Tracy as possible. This was too big, she couldn't cope, she didn't understand what she was feeling –_

_She pulled away abruptly and rose to her feet._

"_I – I have to go."_

"_Tin-Tin –" He reached out to her but she shied away._

"_I have to go. I-I'm sorry."_

"_Tin-Tin, wait!"_

_Without looking at him, she ran up the beach and plunged into the jungle. By the time Alan made to follow her, she'd already disappeared._

" … I ran up to the cliffs – you know where I go to think sometimes? I think I must have spent the rest of the day there. And after that … well, we didn't really talk and then there was the accident …" Tin-Tin trailed off feeling wretched. Everything was going so terribly wrong. She'd been so sure that Alan had rejected her. To find out that the memory that what had happened had been wiped from his mind had completed wrong-footed her. Where did things stand now?

She chanced a glance at Alan's face. He was biting his lip and frowning slightly. What did that mean? Was he upset? Was this going to be the end she had been waiting for?

"So I kissed you … and you ran away."

"Yes," Tin-Tin confirmed, wondering where he was going with this.

"I kissed you and your response was to run away."

"Well – yes."

She watched his expression anxiously, bracing herself for the outburst. When it came, it couldn't have been further from what she had been expecting.

Alan burst out laughing.

"I – I kissed you and you … you ran away!"

"Alan?"

"You ran away – from me!"

"Yes …"

"Oh God, my brother's – my brother's are never going to let me live this down. My kiss made you – it made you run away!"

Tin-Tin was completely bewildered. "Why are you laughing?"

"Wouldn't you?" Alan gasped for breath. "Was I really that bad?"

"No! No, it wasn't you – I was just …"

"Made you run away!"

"Yes. No! No, it wasn't like that! I was confused –"

"Well I can safely say – I can say that I've never had such an extreme - extreme reaction before –"

"I didn't mean – oh will you stop laughing? This isn't funny!"

"It's – it's pretty funny from over – from over here."

"Alan, please, just stop it."

"I wasn't the one – who started it."

"I'm serious. Stop laughing at me!"

"I'm not laughing at you – I'm laughing – I'm laughing at this whole damn sit – situation –"

"It's not funny!"

"It's bloody hilar –"

Whatever else Alan had been going to say was interrupted when Tin-Tin leaned across the space between them, rested her hands on his shoulders and kissed him.

Once again the feelings of elation rushed over her, quickly to be followed by fear, uncertainty and the undeniable knowledge that she'd just set in motion something that couldn't be stopped. There really was no going back now … not that Tin-Tin was sure she wanted to. What she was sure, however, was that it was time to find out where she stood.

She drew back slowly and after a few moments of taking deep breaths, dared to look up at Alan again.

"Wow," he said and all the humour had disappeared from his face.

Suddenly Tin-Tin felt horribly embarrassed. What had she just done? Was she losing her mind? "I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have done that, I just … you were laughing but I – I don't think it's very funny and – and I just want to know what … what it all means." She took another deep breath. "Why did you kiss me, Alan?"

He seemed to realise that her question needed an honest answer, because for a moment he was silent. Heart in her mouth, Tin-Tin waited.

"I can't say for sure … because I don't remember what I was feeling that day," he began slowly, fingers playing with the edge of the cover on the sunlounger. "But I think – I think I kissed you because I wanted to. That's what I feel now, anyway." He raised his head challengingly. "Why did you kiss me?"

"The same reason."

"Then why did you run away the first time?"

Tin-Tin's mind flashed back to that awful and yet incredibly exciting day. "Because you caught me by surprise. Because I wasn't sure I could deal with it. And because … because I wasn't sure that you meant it."

"But now you think I do?"

Tin-Tin sighed. "I don't know, Alan. So much has happened since then – and most of it you can't even remember. I just – I don't know where things stand anymore."

He was silent again, gathering his thoughts. She watched as his hand unbound the sunlounger cover and then tied it back up again.

"Tin-Tin, that day I kissed you … I can't remember what I was feeling but … but I know what I'm feeling now. I know I like you – and I know it's as more than just a friend. And I know that I hope when I do this, you don't run away again."

And for the second time in as many minutes, Tin-Tin Kyrano was kissing Alan Tracy. What made this different from the others was that for the first time, Tin-Tin allowed herself to become lost in the feeling of Alan's soft lips pressing against hers. Her hands wrapped around his neck, but in her eagerness to get closer to him, she'd forgotten that they were sitting on different sunloungers. With a squeak of surprise she lost her balance and ended up sprawled on the ground by Alan's feet. She looked up at him and the ludicrousness of the situation hit her, making her giggle.

"Oh so _now_ it's funny."

"You could have caught me." Blushing, Tin-Tin got to her feet.

"I didn't want you to think I was stopping you from running away."

Tin-Tin sat down alongside him on his sunlounger. As she had that day on the beach, she turned his head to look at her. "Do I look like I'm running away?"

Alan's answer was to kiss her again – and this time, it was perfect.

* * *

Sometime later and Alan and Tin-Tin had retreated into the comfort of the air-conditioned lounge as the heat of the day began to grow. As well as exploring their new found interest in one another, they talked about what it meant for the future and were as open as their natures allowed about their respective feelings. Tin-Tin seemed happier after their talk and Alan still couldn't believe that the beautiful girl he'd been friends with for so long seemed to return his growing attraction.

The situation wasn't perfect of course. Alan's weakened muscles hampered his involvement in certain activities and also made him tire easily. So it was that by the time his brothers returned from another successful rescue, Alan was asleep, his head resting on Tin-Tin's shoulder.

Gordon was the first to stick his head around the doorway. He'd been worrying about Alan ever since he'd heard that neither his brother nor Tin-Tin had come up to the command centre during the rescue. When he saw the tousled blond head of Alan leaning against Tin-Tin's shoulder, a grin stole over his face. The teasing he had subjected Alan to before the accident came to back to him and Gordon wondered how accurate his words had been. The last thing he'd been aware of was some kind of weird tension between Tin-Tin and his little brother … seemed the conclusions that he'd drawn about the reason for this tension might not have been so wrong.

"Hey Tin-Tin," he called loudly, sauntering over to the sofa.

Tin-Tin jumped and looked back over her shoulder. "Keep your voice down," she hissed. "He's sleeping."

Gordon drew back from where he was about to smack his little brother on the back of head. Instead he settled from flopping down onto the sofa opposite and yawning widely. "I am exhausted."

"What happened?" Tin-Tin asked quietly. Watching her, Gordon wondered if she knew she was running her fingers through Alan's hair.

Shaking the thought aside, Gordon focused on her question instead. "Explosion at an office block in downtown LA. First floor, thank God, else the whole building could have collapsed."

"Was it very serious?"

Gordon shrugged. "When it is ever not? At least no one died this time."

"What caused the explosion?"

For the first time, Gordon looked concerned. "That's the worrying thing – we're not completely sure. Virg found something that could have been some kind of incendiary device amongst the wreckage –"

Tin-Tin sat up straight, almost dislodging Alan. "A _bomb_?"

"Maybe." Gordon ran a hand over his face. "Virg and Brains are analysing the remains down in the lab so …"

"Why would someone want to bomb the ground floor of an office?" Tin-Tin looked horrified.

"Because they're a crazy psycho," a groggy voice replied.

"Alan!" Tin-Tin's attention was drawn back to him instantly. She helped to pull him into a more upright position. "You're supposed to be sleeping."

"I was until this joker woke me up," Alan grumbled.

Gordon grinned unabashedly. In fact, it was all he could do to stop from laughing. Seeing Tin-Tin playing Mother Hen to his baby brother was going to be a source of endless amusement, he could tell. And the fact that Alan wasn't exactly pushing her away …

Gordon wavered on the edge of being respectful or just being plain nosy. As usual, nosy won out.

"So what's the deal between you two then?"

"Gordon!" Tin-Tin protested, her dark cheeks going a rosy red.

"What? I'm just curious. You think no one else is going to ask? This way you can let me know gently and then I can pass the news along to everyone else. So come on, 'fess up. What's going on?"

"I don't think it's any of your business!" Tin-Tin shot back, but Gordon noticed she hadn't denied his claim.

"Aw, c'mon, Tin-Tin," Gordon wheedled. "You know I'll find out eventually."

Alan, who up until this point had remained unusually quiet, finally spoke up. "We'll tell you what the deal is between us if you tell us what the deal is between you and Scott."

As if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over him, Gordon's good mood faded it away. "It's none of your business."

His younger brother's eyes met his. "Exactly."

_Touché, _Gordon thought sourly. He pulled a face at his brother and Alan smiled slowly. When the smile turned into a grimace of pain, Gordon stood up. "Okay, that's enough. It's back to your room with you, Sprout."

Alan tried to protest but when Tin-Tin also rose and folded her arms firmly across her chest, Alan took one look at the expression on her face, swallowed and gave in. Humour bubbled inside of Gordon once more. Alan Tracy – the whirlwind, the wild-child, the one member of the Tracy family that drove everyone else to distraction – had been tamed by a petite, slender girl.

God, Gordon was _never_ going to let him live this down.

* * *

As Gordon and Tin-Tin helped Alan back to his room, Jeff Tracy entered Brain's work area. Virgil looked up and smiled when he recognised his father. Brains, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice. He was bent so far over the blackened pieces of machinery that his nose was almost touching it. Fermat hovered next to him, looking very much like he wanted to touch the remains of the bomb, but not sure if he was allowed.

"What's the verdict, Brains?" Jeff asked, facing the engineer across the workbench.

Brains jumped slightly, pushing his glasses back up his nose as they threatened to slip down. "W-Well Mr T-T-Tracy – it's actually very s-s-si-sim-simp _basic_."

"But it _is_ a bomb?"

Virgil nodded. "No doubt. It's not very sophisticated but it was definitely man-made."

"The basic c-compound is H-H-Hex-hexa – _HMTD_," Brains explained. "It's very ex-explosive."

"And worryingly easy to make," Virgil added, his eyes running over the remains of the bomb. "Bit of hydrogen peroxide, some citric acid, fuel tablets from any camping store …"

Jeff's eyes followed his sons. "So, someone makes a bomb," he said slowly, "and they plant it in on the ground floor of a downtown office building? Why?"

The engineers exchanged glances. "We don't know," Virgil admitted finally. "There's nothing here – no scientific remains that would explain it."

"Maybe someone had a – had a grudge against the c-company," Fermat ventured.

"It would have to be a pretty good grudge."

Brains jumped again, Virgil raised a hand in greeting and Jeff looked up to see Scott striding across the silo towards them. He'd changed out of his IR uniform but Jeff was more gratified to see that any sign of a limp had completely disappeared.

"I've just been talking to John," Scott explained when he reached them. "He said the company that owns that floor of the building deals in supplying carpeting for corporate offices. Not exactly a cutting-edge, pushing-the-boundaries kind of business."

"Maybe it was a disgruntled employee," Virgil mused.

Scott shot him an incredulous look. "At a _carpet_ firm?"

"Just because they sell carpets doesn't mean –" Virgil broke off when Scott started shaking his head. "What?" he demanded.

Scott didn't answer immediately. Instead he moved over to the table and stared at the bomb, a frown creasing his forehead.

"Scott?" Jeff prompted, none too patiently.

Scott braced himself against the workbench. "Dad – there's something else."

His eldest looked so troubled that Jeff's impatience was quickly replaced with concern. "What is it, Son?"

Scott took a deep breath. "I think … no, I'm _sure_ that on several of our last missions … I've seen the same guy in the crowd."

"That's not so unusual surely?" Virgil objected. "We often get the same news crews following us – I bet he was a cameraman or something."

Once again Scott shook his head. "It's more than that. I first noticed him at the rescue today, but then when I thought about it, I realised why he looked so familiar. He was at the fire in France too."

"So? He still could have been part of a news group."

"Virgil, we were in the middle of rural France! First he was in Wales, then in France and finally in LA? At exactly the same time as all of our rescues? I believe in a certain amount of coincidence but that's ridiculous."

"Wales?" Jeff broke in quietly, after a pause.

Scott sagged against the table. "Yeah. I'm pretty sure I saw him there too. In the crowd. He's always in the crowd, making all these notes."

"He was making notes?" Now Virgil looked alarmed. He turned to his father. "What if he was recording our movements, or worse?"

"How about setting bombs – is that worse?"

They all stared at Scott. Jeff's mind was reeling from his son's revelations. While part of him wanted to push Scott's concerns aside, he knew his eldest wasn't prone to overreacting – like certain members of the family. If Scott thought there was a problem then there probably was. But this … ?

"Think about it," Scott urged. "How else would this guy know when and where to turn up to make these – these _notes_ on us, unless he knew when an accident was going to happen?"

"Or be c-caused," Fermat whispered.

"The mine collapse, the fire in France – they could have been bombs," Virgil said slowly. "We just assumed they were caused by other means because it was the easiest explanation. A burst lantern and try timber. Exploding chemicals. But what if Scott's right? What if they were bombs?"

"Wouldn't you have found some kind of evidence to support this?" Jeff demanded.

Brains shook his head. "Not necessary Mr T-Tracy. The b-boys only f-f-fo-fou _discovered _the remains of t-this bomb by c-ch-cha _good luck_."

There was a long silence as the implications of Scott's discovery dawned on them.

"Alan," Virgil said finally, his voice choked. "What happened to Alan … if it was because of a bomb then whoever planted that bomb – he almost killed our brother! And those poor miners – god, whoever this is – he's a murderer! He's killed people!"

Scott looked up at their father. "We have to stop him." There was a beseeching light in his eyes.

Jeff studied the faces in front of him. Virgil – pale, wavering between despair and anger. Brains – tired, drawn, worried. Fermat – horrified, his eyes wide behind his glasses. And Scott – resolute, outwardly calm but with anger simmering beneath the surface.

All of them looking to him for the answers.

What could he do but agree?

"FAB."


	17. Epilogue: The End of All Things

**22/12/2011** – The sequel to this story, "Learning to Fly Again" is being posted in my profile.

* * *

**Epilogue: The End of All Things**

Jeff Tracy spun the business card between his fingers, his eyes tracing the embossed letters for the thousandth time. The number was burned into his mind, but it was one that he was reluctant to call. The Tracy family had always handled any problems on their own terms. Beyond medical attention on rescues, there had never been any need to get anyone else involved in the investigation. International Rescue looked after it's own.

Then there had been the accident. Then there had been what had happened to Alan.

Jeff loved all of his sons with an intensity that sometimes scared him. When he thought about how they spent their lives; the risks they took, the danger they stepped in to without blinking, he was torn between a mixture of burning pride and chilling fear. It was a delicate balance and Jeff had managed to maintain a clear perspective in his mind by telling himself that his sons might have been risking their lives, but they were doing so for the good of the world. They were making a difference, they were changing people's lives, they were doing what other people couldn't, or wouldn't. They were remarkable, each and every one of them.

Then there had been Alan's accident and suddenly all of that icy fear inside of him had risen to the fore. When he considered how close Alan had come to dying … it was enough to make him close International Rescue for good. What kind of a father was he that let his children go into such danger on a daily basis?

The card dropped through his fingers landed on his desk. Jeff linked his hands beneath his chin and stared at it. _Dr __Alyson __Tomass, __Clinical __Psychologist_ it declared in bright gold lettering. There was a neatly printed address underneath – an area of downtown Auckland that he was unfamiliar with. A colleague of the inestimable Dr Makura, Alyson Tomass was said to be a world-class psychologist, who specialised in trauma resulting from accidental circumstances. Yet despite her credentials, Jeff was still reluctant to pick up the phone and call her. To do so would invite so many problems, threaten their security, cause unnecessary risk to their organisation … and those were only concerns in relation to International Rescue. What about Alan himself? Jeff's youngest child wasn't an unknown figure in the world and this was the kind of publicity that the Tracy family fought to avoid. The last thing they needed were the eyes of the world's media firmly fixed on them.

And yet … the necessity of dialling those small black numbers was growing stronger each day.

Alan's recovery was not going well. His progress was painfully slow and although he'd been doing them for several months now, his physiotherapy sessions weren't getting any easier. He still hadn't regained the days he'd lost before the accident, and to make things worse he'd been consistently losing time during his recovery as well. Virgil had tried to explain that this was characteristic of serious head injuries but Alan found it hard to accept that he kept forgetting things that people had said and done only days before. In reaction, the usually volatile and unpredictable young man had become withdrawn, moody and silent. Unless spoken to directly, he rarely spoke and, perhaps more alarmingly, he no longer argued the point over every little thing. Jeff's wild, short-tempered youngest child had become a pale shadow.

Jeff wasn't the only one who had noticed. At some time or other over the past week, he'd had each of Alan's brothers in his office, voicing their concerns. Gordon thought Alan's moodiness was down to being in pain and that if he was allowed to take more pain relief then he'd quickly bounce back. Scott thought Alan was sinking into self-pity and his silence was due to frustration at being unable to take part in rescues. John was forced to hear everything second hand and therefore his concern was tempered with a lack of comprehension. But of all his sons, Virgil had been the most vocal, worriedly insisting that Alan was showing all the symptoms of serious depression.

Jeff sighed and with a surge of energy, pushed his chair backwards and stood up. Turning towards the doors of his office he paused, and as an afterthought, picked up the card and slipped it into his pocket. Striding across the room, he pushed the door open and closed it softly behind him.

The villa seemed deserted as he made his way down the corridor towards the kitchen. Gordon's door was firmly shut which probably meant his second-youngest son was planning some kind of mischief at his brothers' expense. Either that or he was outside in the pool, threatening to set a new world record.

Scott's door was shut as well, but that didn't mean anything. His oldest was meticulous enough to make sure that his door was shut whether he was inside his room or not. Meticulous and wise to the ways of younger siblings with buckets of water and paint bombs.

The faint strains of music echoing through down the corridor told him where Virgil was. He followed the sounds of the piano into the lounge and watched for a moment as his chestnut haired son's fingers flew up and down the ivory keys. Virgil's eyes were partially closed and the music stand was empty. Once again Jeff marvelled at his son's talent. Yet as he stood in the doorway he also felt pang of regret. Virgil's music and art, Gordon's swimming, Scott's career in the Air Force, John's in NASA – his sons had given up so much to fulfil a dream that hadn't even been there's. What could their lives have been if International Rescue had remained a wild idea; a handful of sketches attached to a drawing board? Where would they be now? Virgil: a concert pianist? A world famous artist? Gordon: a multi-gold medal-winning swimmer? Scott: Commander of a squad of fighter pilots? John: the first man to set foot on Mars? Alan –

_Alan._

Of all his sons, International Rescue had affected Alan the most. It was unlikely that he remembered life before the concept of the Thunderbirds had started to become a reality. Throughout his childhood he'd watched his brothers join the team one by one. There had never been any question in Alan's mind what he would do when he finally finished school. It was just a question of being old enough.

But was anyone ever old enough to risk their life, even for the greater good of a world? As Jeff moved through the lounge and out onto the patio, the question preyed on his mind. What kind of existence had he introduced his son to? Alan could do anything with life – he should be using his time exploring his interests, looking ahead to university, making plans for the future. He shouldn't have to learn to walk again after a life threatening injury.

"Dad?"

Jeff blinked and came back to himself to find that he was standing alongside the upper swimming pool. Gordon was peering up at him, treading water easily.

"Dad, are you okay?"

Jeff shrugged off the question. "Have you seen Alan today?"

A bead of water trickled down Gordon's face. He wrinkled his nose and wiped the offending droplet away. "He and Tin-Tin headed down to the beach earlier."

"The beach?" Jeff frowned, imagining his youngest struggling along the rough path.

Gordon waved a hand. "Scott drove them. He didn't want to, but Tin-Tin was the one who asked so …"

Jeff understood. Tin-Tin rarely asked for anything, and with things as they were … "How long have they been down there?"

"A couple of hours."

* * *

When Jeff reached the beach, Tin-Tin and Alan were sitting side by side on the stand. The crutches that Alan had been using for the last week or so lay beside them, an ever present reminder of their circumstances. They were talking quietly and as Jeff drew closer, Tin-Tin turned to his son and touched his cheek gently.

If there was some kind of redemption to come out of this whole horrific episode, then it had to be the growing relationship between Alan and the pretty young Malaysian girl. Though neither of them had actually come out and said anything, the fact that the 'just friends' stage of their relationship had ended was impossibly to miss. And while the implications of having his teenage son and his teenage son's girlfriend living under the same roof was cause for concern, Jeff welcomed the development. Tin-Tin was a kind, sensible girl with a very clever head on her shoulders. She was a good match for Alan's fiery temper and Jeff doubted she would put up with the immature and impetuous behaviour Alan often exhibited. Of course, what she would do with the sullen, silent Alan, Jeff wasn't so sure. His fingers tightened around the card inside his pocket. None of them knew what to do with Alan as he was now.

As Tin-Tin drew back from Alan, she glanced over her shoulder. Her serious dark eyes met Jeff's and held for a moment. Then she was rising to her feet, brushing the sand off her shorts. Alan looked up at her questioningly and she smiled.

"I'll see you later, okay?"

She gathered up her shoes and made her way up the beach. When she reached Jeff, she paused. "I think you should call her, Mr Tracy. He needs to talk to someone."

Before Jeff could formulate any kind of response, Tin-Tin slipped past him and disappeared up the beach. Leaving Jeff alone. With the complex, volatile situation that was his youngest son.

And yet … now that he was actually here, Jeff couldn't think of what to say – how to broach the delicate subject of Alan seeing a councillor. With his son in such a fragile emotional state there was no telling how he would react to the suggestion.

So instead of opening his mouth and inevitably putting his foot in it, Jeff simply settled down onto the sand beside his son. As the waves washed gently against the sand, Jeff wondered how long it had been since he had pushed work aside and taken the time to truly enjoy his home. When was the last time he'd sprawled on the beach and just watched the sun set? To his discomfort he found that he couldn't remember. It was another of the small sacrifices made, all in the name of International Rescue.

They sat in silence for a long time – father and son, both so different and yet so alike at the same time. Each with his strengths, each with his weaknesses, and each, ultimately, desperate for someone to bridge the gap between them.

Jeff trailed his fingers through the sand.

"Alan …"

His son didn't respond.

Jeff tried again. "Alan …?"

He wasn't used to this. The Alan of old would bite back immediately; would argue incessantly even if he knew he was completely wrong. This silence was … unnerving.

And yet strangely, it gave Jeff the chance to think about what he really wanted to say. No more sharp words, no more lectures – just the truth.

"Alan … I'm sorry."

There was still no reaction but Jeff got the impression that his son was finally listening to what he was saying.

"I'm sorry about what's happened to you. I'm sorry that you were in the situation where such a thing _could_ happen … and – and I'm sorry you feel you have to go through this alone. I know you don't wanna talk to any of us about it, and that's fine, but it's not – it's never – it's never good to keep these things bottled up inside. Because you have to deal with them so … so it's just better to – to deal with them …" Even to his own ears, his words sounded trite and formulaic. He might have been reading off a 'sorry about your accident and I'm always here for you' gift card.

Jeff sighed and decided to lay all of his cards on the table. "Here it is: I've made a lot of mistakes in my life. After losing your mother … it changed me and not for the better. Yes, I've been successful financially and yes, I've been able to provide for you boys and give you anything you could ever want … but as a father, I know I've made a hell of a lot of mistakes."

Alan was looking at him now, an unfathomable expression in his deep blue eyes. "Dad …"

"No, just listen. I know I was hard on you. I know I wasn't always there for you when you were growing up. And I know, above anything, how much you boys have had to give up to be part of something that was, first and foremost, _my_ dream. International Rescue … no one's denying that it's a worthy cause. But when I think of the sacrifices that you and your brother's have made to be here, all the danger that you've faced, everything you've overcome … Alan …"

Jeff took a deep breath and pulled the small white card out of his pocket. It lay in his palm and he stared down at it. "On this card is a number. Whether you decide to ring it or not is your decision. We will support you either way. But if you can't talk to family … perhaps you can talk to a stranger. And remember … even the strongest man falls if there's no one beneath him to support him. There is no shame in asking for help."

Jeff placed the card on the sand beside his son.

"Think about it."


End file.
